Savage Night (10 page)

"I'll do it," Park said. "You and Martin get off to bed."

"You sure?"

"What, you think I can't change a nappy?" Park said. "Changed yours often enough. I'm a dab hand. Off you go."

"I don't mind."

"Go on," Park said. "Fuck off."

Once they'd gone he spent a couple of minutes trying to guess where Effie'd put the nappies. He knew they were somewhere, cause he remembered taking them from the Home.

No joy, so he went to ask her. He stood outside the bedroom door and listened. Martin was telling her about the cop and the puddle. Park knocked on the door.

Effie answered in a black dressing gown. She apologised. She'd stuck the nappies out of the way, on top of her wardrobe. She shouted to Martin to fetch them.

He brought them over, wearing a matching dressing gown, towel wrapped round his neck. He handed the nappies to Park.

"We'll need to get more tomorrow," Effie said.

"Don't we have enough?"

"Even if we take her to the toilet every couple of hours, there's no guarantee she won't have an accident between times. She can go through three or four a day."

"She can? That's a lot of nappies."

"Incontinence pads," Effie said.

"That's too many sylla-whatever-they're-calleds."

"Syllables? Try 'pads', then."

"What's wrong with nappies?"

"Babies wear nappies. Mum's not a baby."

That was Park told. "Oh, I'll need a nightie for her too."

Effie told him where to find it and suggested some wipes might come in handy to clean her with.

He said goodnight again, and eventually got all the gear gathered round him in the sitting room, and then tried to get Liz to lie down. She wasn't great at following new instructions. You could get her to walk easily enough by taking her hand and leading the way. She'd sit if you gave her a chair. She'd lie down if you pulled back the bed covers. But getting her to lie down on the floor proved to be a challenge.

Park lay down first, hoping a practical demonstration would help.

But she wouldn't look at him. The TV was still on, some chat show, volume low, but she wasn't looking at that either. She was staring straight ahead at nothing in particular.

Park got to his feet, wedged his hands under her arms and lifted her towards him. He balanced her easily with one hand, scooped her legs up with the other. Held her in his arms for a minute, then got down on one knee, then the other. Laid her down gently, like she was asleep and he didn't want to wake her.

She was wearing a skirt, zip at the side. Got that off okay, just tearing the fabric a bit before he realised he'd have to lift her bottom up for her. Course, that meant having to press against the nappy and risk squashing its contents. Not a good idea. So he figured out how to roll her onto her side, tug the skirt down, then roll her onto her other side, tug that down. Did that a few times and the skirt came off.

"Easy, sweetheart," he said.

The smell was much stronger now. Big difference between changing a baby's nappy and changing an adult's. Much meatier.

The nappy was baby blue. Had a thin green line running up the centre of it. He pulled the tabs apart and it opened.

"Ah, Jesus," he said, the stink getting up his nose. "Sorry, Liz, but that's rank."

He raised her legs, held them out of the way while he folded up the nappy.

Grabbed a wet wipe. Took two more to get her properly clean.

A rash dotted outwards towards her thighs. He gave that a wiped, too.

This was how they used to fuck. Liz lying on her back, her legs over his shoulders.

He lowered her legs. Her thatch of near-black hair reached to her belly button. And the hair was thick. He remembered that. It was always thick and wiry. He liked it that way. Wild and out of control.

Fuck it, he wanted her.

Was there something wrong with him that he felt like this? She was his wife and she was half-naked and he hadn't had a shag in over five years.

Not as if he'd be doing something wrong if he screwed her now. If she could make a choice one way or the other, she'd want to do it too. Right?

But she couldn't make a choice.

There were other options, of course. He could go elsewhere, pay for it. Liz wouldn't mind. She wouldn't know anything about it. But he didn't want sex with just any woman. He wanted Liz.

He bent over, kissed her. Her lips were dry, unresponsive.

He should get rid of the nappy, the used wipes, get her ready for bed.

But first he lay down beside her, placed his cheek on her belly. The chatter on the TV dulled.

She was warm and soft and her belly rumbled. He wondered what she was trying to say.

***

BEEF STEW FOR dinner the next night. Martin had made it, and like everything he cooked, it was frigging delicious. Afterwards, they all sat in the sitting room, sinking a few pints, Effie and Martin snuggled up on the settee, Liz beside them. Park sat on the arm until the pressure on the base of his spine got too much, then switched to the floor by Liz's feet.

"Want my seat?" Grant said. He was sitting in the only armchair.

"I'm fine here."

They were all here. Well, apart from Richie, Park's eldest. Right at this moment, he was probably in the prison gym 'getting big', or slobbing it in front of the TV. If he was out of his cell. And gagging for some beer, no doubt. That's what you missed inside. More than sex.

Still, Richie could do the time. You don't become a hit man unless you're prepared for the consequences. Although he'd never imagined what it would do to his mother when she found out. Nobody'd imagined that.

Christ, Liz.

Maybe she'd like some beer. He asked her.

"No," Effie said. "Are you fucking mental?"

"Just a glass."

"She's not used to alcohol. And, anyway, she's had enough liquid for one night."

"Dad's an expert nappy changer now," Grant said. He laughed.

"It's not funny," Park said. "And it's true. I am."

"That's debatable." Effie didn't think he'd done that great a job last night. She'd given him some advice earlier: "If Mum does a number two, get her to stand in the bath. Much easier to clean her under the shower."

He'd try it next time and see.

Anyway, didn't look like Liz was getting any beer.

They watched some reality show, then an oldie DVD Grant had got from a friend at work. Park rarely watched modern movies. Too much blood. So Grant was always on the look-out for old classics for his blood-shy dad.
God's Little Acre,
this one was called. A comedy about a poor crazy hick family. Turned out to be every bit as sad as it was funny.

When that was over, Grant left, giving his mum and Effie a hug and a kiss, shaking hands with Martin, and not sure what to do with his dad. Park helped him out, giving him a hug but foregoing the kiss.

Martin put some music on. Lesbo-pop, he said. Russian.

It sounded all right. Park was even humming to himself when he went to get more beer from the kitchen.

He wondered when he'd get a chance to speak to Effie. All day they'd been talking about what they were going to do with Liz. Long-term. Then Effie'd whispered to him that she had an idea, but she wanted to talk to him about it when they were alone. By which she meant, not in front of Martin.

It was getting late now, and Park was hoping Martin would head off to bed soon so he could hear what Effie had to say. But when Park returned from the kitchen, Martin was talking about his mother and bed still looked a long way off.

"We have our ups and downs," Martin said. "Mainly ups, though."

"Don't remember my mum," Park said.

Effie said to Martin, "She died when Dad was three."

"And as for my dad," Park said, "he scarpered as soon as he found out my mum was pregnant."

Effie said, "Well, my dad's pretty cool." And smiled at him. "And my mum's pretty cool, too." She put her hand out, stroked her mother's greying hair.

"My mum gave us her old settee," Martin said.

"Very kind." Park felt bad he hadn't been able to help them smarten the place up too. Been nice to have got them a chair or something. "How come I've never met her?"

"She's …" Martin said. "It's complicated. She's … don't know the right word. Fragile, I suppose." He looked at Effie, his hand playing with the neck of his pale-yellow polo-neck jumper.

"Since your dad … ?" Effie said.

"Yeah," he said. "No, before that. Didn't help, though."

"Since your dad … ?" Park repeated.

"Let Martin tell you in his own time," Effie said. "If he wants to."

Martin said, "It's okay."

"You don't have to say anything," Effie said to Martin.

"It's about time your dad knew," Martin said.

Effie gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Martin's face seemed to thin and grow older as the muscles tightened. "My dad," he said, glancing at Effie, then back to Park, "was murdered."

"Jesus." Park took a swig of beer. "When was this?"

"Ten years ago," Martin said, struggling to light a fag even though there was already one smouldering in the ashtray.

Park wasn't going to pretend a lack of interest, however hard this was for Martin. "What happened?" he asked. "Wrong place at the wrong time, kind of thing?"

Martin lit his cigarette at last, sucked hard. Then said in a strangled voice as he breathed out, "He was involved with the wrong people." He bit his lower lip, tapped his fag in the ashtray. "Drug smugglers. Dealers." He closed his eyes. Opened them again. His eyelashes were moist. "This is boring," he said.

"Far from it," Park said. "Carry on. Please."

Martin stubbed out his cigarette, then picked up the other one and crushed it smokeless too. "Dad was an alchy." He picked at the label on his beer bottle. Loosened an edge. "Got worse as he got older. Had a gambling habit, too. And it was worse when he was drunk." He tore a strip off the label. "Eventually he got in some serious debt. And then, as if he hadn't already fucked up enough, he did something really stupid." He crumpled the label in his fingers, pinged it into the ashtray. Missed. He picked it up and dropped it in. "He ripped off his employers, the dealers."

"Got found out, of course," Effie said. "He was made an example of. They took him to Almondell Country Park. You know it?"

Park nodded. He knew where it was. Never had occasion to go there, though.

"The place didn't matter," Martin said. "Not for Dad. Middle of the night. His hands tied behind his back. Could have been anywhere quiet." He lowered his head. Effie stroked the back of his neck till he looked up again. "He was blindfolded. Never saw the blade."

Oh, shit. Park felt the blood rush from his head like someone had scooped out a big hole in the back of his skull. "They stabbed him?"

Martin looked pained, exactly as if somebody had just stabbed
him
. "Cut," he said. "They cut …"

Park put his hand to his throat. It felt tight. He coughed.

Martin thought he was making a suggestion. Shook his head. "Decapitated."

"Man," Park said, glad he was sitting down. He leaned forward, head between his knees.

"Cut his hands off, too."

"Oh, Jesus." Park's fingers curled towards his palm as he imagined steel slicing through the barbed-wire tattoo on his wrist. His vision went black at the edges but he fought it, stayed conscious.

"You okay, Dad?"

He blinked hard. Sweat trickled from the corners of his eyes.

"Dad?"

"Sorry about this," he said. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He kept his head down and said, "So why did they do that, Martin?"