Consequence (20 page)

He spoke to Richards and Phillips and even played pool with them before retiring from the premises. The two conmen had used his intoxicated state to hustle him out of £30.

A couple of youths entered half an hour later, they regarded the occupied pool table and then left.

As the large clock in the pool room nudged onto 19:00, the only occupants were the two criminals and a bored barmaid who watched soap operas on a television above the bar.

“We’re going to have to go back soon,” Richards said.

Phillips shrugged and leant over the table to take a long shot on a red. “Why the rush?”

“We’ve been here for hours,” Richards said.

“Are you bored?”

“Not really.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“I want a drink.”

“You’re in a pub. Get one.”

Richards watched his friend sink the shot and then walk around the table to line up another.

“I can’t,” Richards said. “I have to drive us home.”

“Have
one,
” Phillips argued. “It’ll not do you any harm.”

“I like to settle when I start to drink. Have one then another, not have one, drive the car home
then
have another.”

“You sound like a little girl when you complain, you know that?” Phillips observed with a grin.

“Fuck off.”

“
Feisty
” Phillips slammed another red ball into the pocket and left the white ball in line for a long shot on the black.

“I’m getting sick of
Coke
,” Richards said distastefully.

“What?”

“
Coke
. It’s the pop that doesn’t know what it is. I don’t normally drink it on its own, unless I have no choice -- like now.”

“What the fuck are you bitching about?” Phillips stopped, rested his cue against the table and stared at his friend in bewilderment.

“
Coke
, it’s becoming a flavour,” Richards clarified. “There’s too many knock offs and they all taste different. So when you order it you never know which one you’re getting, is it
Coca Cola,
Pepsi
or some cheap shite from China. They should tell you. When you ask for orange juice they make a point of telling you it’s freshly squeezed, fuck, some places will even tell you which oranges are used. But they never explain the
Coke
.”

“What the fuck…”

“I’m just saying.”

“If you hate it so much why didn’t you get orange juice?” Phillips wondered.

“It gives me heartburn.”

“Lemonade?”

“Tastes like fizzy sweat.”

“Sprite.”

“Fizzy sweat with a hint of lime.”

“You’re a picky fucker aint you?” Phillips mused.

“Maybe I should go get a pint. Just one, then we can leave,” Richards bargained with himself.

Phillips nodded.

“I’ll let you take your shot first,” Richards said, waiting over the pool table.

Phillips nodded, a bemused grin still etched across his face. He took his shot and then rested the cue down on the table again.

“Lucky bastard,” Richards muttered. “I’ll go get a pint now. Want another?”

Phillips looked down at his own glass, it was half full and surrounded by six empty pint glasses. The barmaid had decided that she wasn’t going to go around collecting glasses or cleaning tables today, so Phillips knew exactly how much he’d had to drink.

After a few more seconds of deliberation he nodded, “Get me another pint,” he said before draining what was left in the one he already had.

67

Howard Price stared at the stranger in the mirror. In the last twenty-four hours the well-educated, cultured and somewhat stressed features had transformed into an almost unrecognisable portrait of despair, fear and hate.

It was morning and he hadn’t slept a wink. He’d stayed awake downstairs, watching television to try to take his mind off the matter at hand, but it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t remember what he had watched and he doubted he knew at the time.

Around three o’clock in the morning he and Elizabeth had gone to bed. Howard found it hard to talk to her and she found it hard to talk to him, but the deathly silences hadn’t discomforted either of them. They said goodnight, kissed each other and tried to drift off to sleep.

Elizabeth had drifted off within the hour, Howard remained awake. He did, or at least thought he did, fall asleep sometime around five o’clock. He was spirited away into a soft dream, he remembered the warmth it gave but not the images it displayed, but something woke him minutes later and thrust him back into reality.

The skin below his eyes was baggy and black, he pinched it with his finger and thumb and pulled. It lacked elasticity.

Shaking his head at his own sorrowful figure he turned on the cold tap and watched the gusset of water spray into the sink in front of him. Staring into the stream he felt his eyes becoming heavy, he felt tired, but he knew he couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t sleep until Lisa was alive and well; until he could hold her again and assure her and himself that she was going to be okay.

Cupping his hands below the flowing tap he allowed the water to freeze his skin. He watched as the skin on his hands changed colour when the water cooled his blood and numbed his fingers.

Splashing the water over his face he relished the freeze. The water continued on a downward spiral over his face, running over his bare torso and dripping onto his pyjama pants, he pressed his ice cold hands to his face.

“Are you okay darling?”

Elizabeth Price stood in the doorway of the bathroom. She also looked tired and gaunt. Her once soft, delicate features were ravaged; her eyes bloodshot, her complexion pale.

“I’m just trying to wake myself up,” Howard answered without looking in her direction.

“Come downstairs,” she said. “I’ve cooked us both breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” she pleaded.

Howard shook his head. He picked up a fresh towel from the rack next to the sink and sunk his head into its plush fibres.

“You need to keep your strength up,” Elizabeth insisted.

“For what?” Howard said as he lowered the towel.

“It’s going to be a long day.”

Howard lowered the towel, “No shit,” he snapped.

Elizabeth frowned and sunk her head into her chest, “Just have something to eat would you?” she begged softly.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Elizabeth faked a smile and left. Howard listened to her footfalls on the stairs as she descended into the kitchen.

Wiping a few extra drops of cold water from his face he replaced the towel and walked into the bedroom. Grabbing a pair of tattered blue jeans, a white shirt and a large sweatshirt, he quickly changed.

Elizabeth had woken when Howard was still in bed. He had pretended to be asleep so he could avoid conversation. That was forty minutes ago and as he strolled into the kitchen he realised what she had been doing in that time.

The air inside the kitchen was humid and smoky; an extractor fan above the cooker tried to dry and clean the air but did little more than make a continuous, irritating noise.

Two windows and the patio doors had been opened to allow the kitchen some breathing space.

Howard’s attention was fixed on the breakfast table. The large, round table had been filled with fried, baked and toasted goods. Elizabeth always cooked to take her mind off things. When her mother had been diagnosed with cancer Howard found himself coming home to large roasted dinners and three course meals. When her mother passed away she had cooked mountains of treats. Luckily for Howard the school fair had been on at the time and Lisa and her teacher had sold all of Elizabeth’s anxiety goods from one of the stalls.

On the table was a declaration of Elizabeth’s worry and as Howard spread his eyes over the many delights he realised just how worried she was.

The table was brimming with food. In the middle, on a large plate, was a tall stack of pancakes. Howard counted fifteen, with another half dozen on the breakfast table. Next to the mountain of pancakes was a similarly large stack of toast, all buttered and spread with five different kinds of jam. Next to these was a plate of sweet waffles, a plate of potato waffles, scones and a variety of sauces: tomato sauce, brown sauce, sweet chilli, chocolate, maple syrup, strawberry, butterscotch; as well as a jar of marmalade, strawberry jam, lemon curd and a platter of butter.

Surrounding these delights were bacon rashers, black pudding, fried tomatoes, fried bread and some thick sausages.

“Like I said,” Elizabeth said from behind the kitchen counter. “Eat up.”

Howard looked at her and smiled. He wrapped his arms round her and pulled her close to him.

“There’s beans and mushrooms in the pans,” she said with tears running down her cheeks and a smile on her face. “And a fresh pot of coffee and tea on the counter. There wasn’t any space left on the table.”

Howard laughed and kissed her on the forehead. “I guess I can eat something,” he said. “Maybe we should invite the neighbours, we could feed the whole town,” he joked.

68

Darkness had come and gone for Lisa Price. The room around her remained the same musky brown colour as it was when she first arrived, but her world had turned even blacker for a while. She had fallen asleep, she knew that much, but she didn’t know for how long.

She had dreamt of her parents. They had all been in the house, but something about the house looked different and felt colder. Men in green suits were walking back and forth, taking furniture and belongings and loading them into a truck whilst her parents watched on, smiling.

Lisa had tried to reach out to them, grasp them, hold them, touch them; but all of her efforts were in vain. Instead she retreated to her room, only to find that it no longer existed. The walls had been knocked down to expand her parents’ bedroom. The en-suite stretched twice its original size and was decorated in the most elegant marble. There was a hot tub where Lisa’s bed once was and a heated towel rack in place of her desk. All of her belongings and furniture had been removed.

She ran out of the room in shock, reaching the top of the stairs just in time to see her parents leave the house and slam the door shut behind them.

She was alone in an empty house and her parents had abandoned her.

It was then that she woke, that much she
did
know. She didn’t usually have many nightmares but was always reassured when she woke. The horrible visions seen in her sleep would disappear and the warmth of her reality would take over, her parents were always there to console her if anything had scared or worried her.

This time it was different. She wished herself
back
into the nightmare.

Moving her arms and legs she realised she had more space between the string and her skin, it no longer cut into her. She reasoned that the nice man must have come in through the night to ease the tightness.

“Good morning,” Morris walked into the living room of the dark flat, stretching and greeting Roach who sat on one of the hardback chairs in discomfort.

“Is it?” Roach snapped.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Just tired,” Roach muttered in reply.

Morris shrugged and dropped onto the chair opposite his colleague. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really. It’s hard to sleep in here, and the fact that we don’t have any beds doesn’t help either,” Roach grumbled.

“A cushion and your jacket, that’s all you need for a good sleep.”

James Roach frowned.

“Where did you go this morning?” Morris asked lightly.

“What?”

“I heard you creeping about and when I looked you were heading out the front door,” he explained.

“Ah,” Roach remembered. “I went to the pay phone around the corner. The battery on my mobile is dead.”

Morris paused. He watched his colleague, waiting for him to explain his actions further -- he didn’t speak.

“And?” Morris pushed.

Roach shook himself out of a trance, “Just to phone the wife,” he clarified. “I told her I was staying in a hotel.”

Morris nodded and looked around the flat. Moisture clung to the walls and created damp splashes of grainy brown mould. Burn marks, cigarette stubs, ash, empty bottles, tin foil and various wrappers were scattered on the hard floor -- the air in the room stank of despair.

“Not exactly the Ritz though is it?” he joked.

Roach laughed lightly. “Did you check in on the girl during the night?” he queried.

“Are you asking me or making a statement based on the fact that you saw me sneaking into her room?” Morris raised his eyebrows jokingly. Roach laughed and nodded.

“I figured I would loosen her ties,” Morris revealed. “Poor sod won’t be able to feel her arms or legs.”

“Do I detect a touch of decency?” Roach asked, surprised at the act of kindness.

“No. Just making sure our money girl remains in mint condition.”

“You’re a soulless fucker aren’t you?”

“It comes with the job.”

Silence wrapped around them again as they both drifted into their own thoughts.

“What if she recognises us?” Roach said, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we aint been disguising our faces have we? She can provide decent descriptions of us to the police.”

“We’ve been through this before James. She’s just a kid, give her a few hours and she won’t be able to pick us out of a line-up filled with cartoon characters.”

“You might be underestimating her.”

“Not really. What good is a description if none of us have any police records or have never been involved with the police? They can stick black and white fucking drawings of our faces on as many papers and programmes as they want, we’re ghosts in this world.”

Roach agreed. “Do you plan to leave the country afterwards?” he asked sombrely.

“Of course,” Morris said without hesitation. “I’ll put my shitty fucking house on the market and head for Spain, Italy or France. Five hundred thousand will be enough for me to buy a house and a nice piece of land over there. I’ll spend the rest of my days sitting in the sun, getting drunk and gambling away all my money.”