If I was a banana
I’d be quite appealing.
I’d zip my yellow suit off
And throw it on the ceiling.
I’d streak around the kitchen
With my pale white flesh on show,
Wiggling my banana butt
Everywhere I go.
If I was a banana
I’d be quite appealing.
I’d zip my yellow suit off
And throw it on the ceiling.
I’d streak around the kitchen
With my pale white flesh on show,
Wiggling my banana butt
Everywhere I go.
Phil pushed the bookcase against the door then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his Captain America t-shirt. He noticed his hands trembling and balled them into fists so his friends wouldn’t see.
‘That’s pointless. Cats can’t open doors,’ said Joe. He slumped onto the bed next to Rohan.
Phil looked across at his two friends. Joe was wearing his Chicago Bears top. His dad had sent it to him and he always wore it unless it was in the wash. His scruffy brown hair looked extra tussled after running here. Rohan’s turban still looked immaculate but his shallow breathing and sweaty face betrayed his fitness level. ‘Just in case. Cats don’t normally turn into marzipan and eat people either. We don’t know what they can do now.’
‘I don’t think they’ll be able to open doors.’ Joe fiddled with his neon green shoelace.
‘Well, just in case. Humor me.’ Phil paced across to the bed and kicked Joe’s foot.
‘Hey, guys, c’mon,’ said Rohan. His chunky glasses magnified his big brown eyes blinking back the threat of tears.
Joe placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Sorry Ro, you ok?’
‘Of course he’s not ok numb nuts, he just watched his sister being bitten by a marzipan cat and then turning into marzipan herself.’ Phil pulled up his desk chair and sat down opposite Joe and Rohan.
Joe stretched out and lightly kicked Phil’s leg. ‘I’m aware of that number nuts. I saw it too. And old Mrs. Terry on the corner, all her five cats had marzipaned. She had no chance.’
‘What’s happening guys? What we gonna do?’ Rohan’s eyes flicked back and forth between Joe and Phil, like a mole emerging into bright sunshine.
Phil sighed and stared at the skateboarding scab on his knee. He had to be brave for his friends. He tried to keep his voice as steady as he could. ‘I don’t know.’
‘When will your mom and dad be back?’ Rohan threw his question in Phil’s direction.
Phil rubbed his eyes, his hands slightly trembling, he clenched them again. ‘I don’t think they’ll be coming back. It was on the TV before you both got here. It’s all over the place, the cats, they’re everywhere. The news said to stay wherever you are and don’t go outside.’
Joe pulled his legs up onto the bed and tucked them under himself. ‘They can’t be everywhere.’
‘They’re everywhere,’ said Phil through gritted teeth. ‘It’s marzipan madness out there.’
Rohan knelt on the bed, spying out of the window. He could see yellow cats, lots of yellow cats, almond assassins, prowling and pacing along the hydrangea-lined neighborhood. ‘They are everywhere. What we gonna do Phil?’
Joe frowned. ‘Why you asking Phil not me?’
‘Phil’s the eldest.’
‘Ro we’re all thirteen.’ Joe raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
‘Yes, but Phil’s still the eldest.’
‘By five days.’
Phil stood up. ‘Hey, I think who’s the eldest isn’t really important right now.’
Rohan sat back from the window and trailed his finger along Saturn’s rings on Phil’s duvet cover. ‘Yeah, well, I was just saying.’ He shrugged while staring into the universe on the bed. ‘I dunno what to do.’
‘We can stay here? Wait for help.’ Joe nodded at his own suggestion.
‘Help won’t be coming.’ Phil sat back down on his chair and swiveled back and forth. ‘Everyone bitten or scratched turns to marzipan and dies.’
Joe turned and took up Rohan’s spy post at the window. ‘Why aren’t the cats dying? When they turn to marzipan, why aren’t they dying, like the people?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t create the mutant marzipan moggies did I?’ Phil dabbed sweat off his forehead again. He wanted Captain America to be real, to swoop in and save the day.
‘Didn’t they say on the news?’
‘They don’t know. But the people, after they’ve turned and are dead, they come back to life. Zombies.’
Joe spun away from the window and looked back at Phil. ‘Shit.’
‘So they are ok then?’ Rohan blinked hopefully towards Phil.
Phil smiled. ‘Yeah they’re fine.’ He dropped his smile like a hot potato. ‘Of course they’re not ok, they’re made of solid marzipan, doofus. You saw your sister. Did she look fine?’
Rohan ran his fingers along the hem of his camouflage shorts as a make-do comforter while staring at the fabric planets. Joe slumped under the window and bit at his nails. Phil rotated slowly on the chair, trying to think what to do. What would Captain America do? A clock in the shape of a rocket ticked behind Phil on his desk. The tick-tock silence was broken by loud meowing and human screams outside.
Joe spun around to look out of the window again. ‘Jeez. Mr. Howard has turned. He looks like a Simpson. He’s trying to get into the Kiplinski’s porch.’
‘If no help is coming we’re going to have to kill the cats ourselves,’ said Phil.
‘And just how d’we kill them?’ Joe got up from the bed and started to pace the small room. ‘I mean, I know how you’d kill a normal cat, but one that’s made of fucking marzipan?’
Rohan looked up from the planets horrified. ‘Your mom would freak at your language.’
Joe stopped his pacing. ‘My mom is probably almond paste right now. I don’t think she’d fucking care.’
‘You’re such a grown up.’ Rohan pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
‘Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.’ Joe continued his pacing.
‘Hey, c’mon, both of you.’ Phil stopped moving on the chair. ‘We have to eat them.’
‘What?’ Joe stopped pacing.
‘The cats,’ said Phil. ‘It said on the news, the only way they can be stopped is by eating them.’
‘Eating them?’ Rohan grimaced.
Joe held his hands up. ‘Can’t we just chop their heads off?’
‘If their heads are chopped off they just morph back together. Same if you squash them.’ Phil mimed squishing and growing with his hands. ‘They just go back into their cat shapes. Guessing it’s the same for the people too.’
‘I can’t eat people,’ said Joe, clasping his face with his hands.
Rohan wiped his hands down his thighs. ‘I can’t eat cats. I’m a vegetarian.’
‘It’s bloody marzipan. Without the blood. Perfectly vegan and fine for your religion.’ Phil twirled around in the chair to face Joe. ‘Just like eating the marzipan fruits your Auntie Gayle gives you at Christmas.’
‘Eating a non-moving marzipan apple the size of my thumb is a bit different to eating a full sized marzipan cat in attack mode. Or a relative,’ said Joe.
Phil stood up and walked across to Joe. ‘We can stun the cat, or person, first, by whacking them with something and then eat them quickly.’
‘Can you stun marzipan?’ Rohan asked.
Joe shrugged. ‘At least we won’t have to worry about finding food.’ He attempted to laugh but just made a snorting noise.
‘Maybe we can make a pact though.’ Phil patted Joe’s shoulder. ‘I don’t think any of us want to eat our own family.’
Rohan gasped. ‘No!’
‘Gross,’ said Joe.
Phil looked across at Rohan, then back to Joe. ‘So why don’t we agree that if we get in a ‘situation’ with family one of us others will deal with it.’
Rohan started to cry. ‘I can’t.’
Joe slunk over to the bed and sat next to Rohan. ‘Look Ro, I know it’s hard but we gotta pull together here.’
‘No, I mean I can’t. I can’t eat marzipan.’ Rohan stifled his sobs. ‘My diabetes. I haven’t got my insulin with me.’
‘Shit.’ Phil kicked the bookcase. He’d forgotten about Ro’s diabetes. Why didn’t he bring his insulin pen with him? Why did he have to think of everything all the time.
From the other side of the door there was a hiss of a cat. Phil leapt away from the bookcase and door and almost landed on Joe’s lap as he launched himself onto the bed. The cat started scratching at the door.
Joe gripped Rohan’s knee. ‘Christ, maybe it’ll go away?’
The scratching at the door continued.
Rohan swallowed hard. ‘How can marzipan make a scratching noise like that?’
Joe realized he was holding Rohan’s knee and let go. He frowned at Rohan. ‘I don’t know, shall we open up the door and find out?’
Rohan hugged his legs again and lowered his head.
‘Sorry Ro,’ said Joe. ‘I’m not feeling myself.’
Phil shuffled across the bed a little. ‘You’re looking a little yellow Joe. You feel sick?’
Joe shook his head. ‘No. Just a bit spaced. Like you? Don’t you feel spaced?’
‘Wired. I’m feeling wired. Not spaced.’ Phil turned his head to Rohan. ‘Ro?’
Rohan shook his head and edged away a few inches from Joe.
Phil stood up slowly. ‘You haven’t been bitten have you?’
‘No,’ said Joe. He stared at his laces.
Rohan slid off the bed and stood next to Phil. ‘Or scratched? You might not have felt a scratch while we were running over here.’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Joe clenched his hands.
‘You’re definitely more yellow now. Look.’ Phil pointed to Joe’s bare legs, not covered by his shorts.
‘It’s the light in here.’ Joe grabbed the pillow from the bed and tried to cover his legs.
‘Shit Joe, you’re turning, look at the scratch on your arm!’ Phil took a step back, bumping into the chair.
All three boys looked at Joe’s arm. It was definitely yellow. There was a gaping gash, about an inch long, and thick yellow pus paste oozed out from it below his sleeve.
‘No! Oh God no. Guys you have to help me!’ Joe cried as he stared at his changing body.
‘We can’t do anything,’ said Phil, gripping onto the back of the chair. ‘There’s no cure.’
‘Then you have to kill me.’ Joe stopped crying and sniffed. He held his arms out. ‘Eat me.’
‘Jeez Joe! You’re not fully turned! I can’t eat you.’ Phil grimaced.
Joe lowered his arm. ‘Ok. Well, get ready.’
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ said Phil. He sat in the chair shaking his head.
‘You have to,’ Joe pleaded. ‘Rohan can’t or he’ll go into a hypo.’
Rohan shifted slightly from side to side, sniffing.
Phil looked at his friends scared faces, he needed to keep their spirits up. ‘There are bits of you that I really don’t think I can eat.’ He nodded towards Joe’s crotch.
‘Christ Phil! You can’t leave just my wiener running around after people.’ Joe rubbed the pus paste into his arm as a bit more oozed out. ‘What kind of sicko does that.’
‘What kind of sicko eats your wiener!’ Phil made a snorting noise as he laughed and stifled a cry at the same time.
Joe laughed and wiped yellow tears away with his sticky fingers.
‘Can’t you just leave?’ Rohan mumbled. ‘You could eat that cat on your way out.’
‘Wow. Really finding out about my friends now.’ Joe smiled at Rohan.
Rohan limply smiled back. ‘It’s because I’m your friend I don’t want to eat you.’
Phil took a step closer to Joe. ‘C’mon Joe, take one for the team. I’d leave if it was me infected.’ He placed his hand gently on Joe’s shoulder. ‘I’d push you out the door but I don’t want my fingers sinking into your fat marzipan middle there.’
‘I’d eat you if it was the other way around numb nut.’ Joe stood up and stepped towards the door. ‘I’ll eat the cat, then run away from the house, draw any others away.’
Rohan wiped his eyes. ‘Thanks Joe.’
‘Sorry bud.’ Phil’s voice cracked.
Joe nodded. ‘Get ready to slam the door.’ He started to shove the bookcase out of the way but his thumb mushed into the wood. Sighing, he scraped it off, remolded it, and stuck it on his forehead. ‘Unicorns rule.’
Phil laughed. ‘Numb nut.’ He dragged the bookcase away from the door and held the door handle. He locked eyes with Joe. ‘Ready?’
Joe nodded and smiled at Phil and Rohan. Phil yanked the door open and Joe shot out, Phil slammed the door behind him. Phil leant against the door and closed his eyes. Rohan sat on the bed, leant forward, and held his head in his hands. Cat screeching and scuffling outside the door was agony to listen to. There was a final high pitched feline howl then the landing fell silent.
After minutes of stillness, Phil stopped leaning against the door and turned, pressing his ear up against it. ‘Joe? You still there?’
‘Yes,’ said Joe from behind the door.
Rohan lifted his head from his hands. ‘Why didn’t you run?’
Joe’s voice sounded muffled. ‘I don’t want to die out there on my own. I’m scared.’
‘He’s going to fully turn any minute.’ Rohan whispered to Phil.
Phil nodded, then talked to the door again. ‘Did you eat the cat?’
‘No. Well, I tried to eat it, but it’s very struggly. I ate its leg. It’s not happy with me. It’s just staring at me now. I’m sorry’
Phil placed his hand flat against the door. He would have probably stayed too. ‘I’m sorry too.’ He turned and looked at Rohan, and raised his eyebrows.
Rohan nodded and stood up from the bed. Phil slowly twisted the door handle and opened it.
Joe was sat on the floor, not only was his skin bright yellow but his hair had turned from dark brown to yellow chunky strands. His thumb was still on his forehead.
Phil opened the door wider. He could see an angry looking marzipan cat in a crouching attack position further along the landing. ‘Put your thumb back where it should be, I can’t take you seriously.’
‘If you’re going to be marzipan, we will too,’ said Rohan.
‘No you should stay safe.’ Joe shuffled to his feet, removing his thumb from his head and molding it back onto his hand. ‘I’m just being selfish.’
‘You’re not being selfish. You’re just scared like we are.’ Phil shrugged. ‘No one is safe. If we don’t have our families we only have each other, but if we don’t have each other what’s the point in hiding out.’
The cat rocketed itself through the doorway, hissing and lashing out in a frenzied Catherine Wheel of almond rage.
‘It got me!’ Rohan stumbled back rubbing his leg.
‘Me too,’ said Phil.
The cat limped back out on its three legs, its tail twitching like a caffeinated cobra. Joe shuffled into the room and slumped his sticky body onto the bed.
‘D’you think we’ll still know each other when we turn?’ asked Rohan. ‘You know, when our brains are marzipaned?’
‘Yeah, sure we will.’ Phil put his arm around Rohan. ‘Friends and numb nuts forever.’
Joe widened his mouth into a Joker’s grin. ‘Marzipan’s for life, not just for Christmas.’
I don’t know why I’m writing this and I don’t know who I think will read it but I feel I must write something down in case something happens to me. I’m scared. Maybe I’ll be less scared if I keep a journal, I might read it back and say ‘Kelly you’re just being silly’. I have about thirty minutes a day to myself while he has a bath so I’ll write then.
This lockdown is making everyone stir crazy so I can’t blame him for what he does. It’s being stuck in here with me day after day, that’s enough to test the patience of anyone he says. I’ll hide this little notebook in the drawer with my sanitary towels, he never searches through that as he thinks it’s disgusting. I wish he wouldn’t say that. I wish we could be the way we used to be, at the start. I love him.
He hit my face today. He’s never done that before. I guess with me not going out he’s not worried about anyone seeing the bruises. It’s always been my legs, stomach, back and arms, but today it feels like the first time. He loves me and he’s sorry. He’s always sorry. He says I make him hurt me. I wish I could make him happy. I’m frightened. I love him.
More hits to my face today. I feel ashamed. I looked in the mirror and I felt ashamed. I’m trying my best but I don’t understand what I did wrong today. He said I looked ugly and I’d let myself go so maybe that’s why he was upset with me. My ribs are hurting too. I feel sick and don’t feel like eating. I’ll cook a roast tomorrow, he loves a roast dinner. I love him.
The dinner wasn’t hot enough today so I had to eat mine off the floor, even though I wasn’t hungry. It was difficult to swallow it down with his foot on the back of my neck and while I was crying. I tried to stop crying as this just made him madder but I couldn’t. I try my best to be a good wife but I don’t know what to do. I cried when he made love to me. I love him.
I’ve got cystitis. He couldn’t go to the chemist as there are too many sick people out there and I’d be endangering him so I asked if he could order something online but he told me that would be a waste of money. I complain too much. I didn’t want sex this morning but I didn’t complain. I love him.
I don’t recognise myself. He shaved my head. There was a hair in his food so he shaved my head. I have black and bloodshot eyes, and no hair. I look disgusting. He’s right, no one else would want me. I don’t know what to do. I nearly phoned his mum but when I called her in September she told me that he was my husband and what did I expect. She would say the same now. I’m scared but I love him.
I don’t think I can take much more, I can’t even bare to write down what he did to me last night. How can he love me and do that? I don’t know what to do. His family won’t help me, I’m not allowed to leave during this quarantine and even if I was I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. I haven’t spoken to my friends or family in so long, I wouldn’t know what to say. He says they all hate me anyway. I don’t want to cause problems for anyone else. I’m a disappointment to everyone. I’m going to try and search on his laptop for a refuge or someone I can talk to. I’ve got the landline but I don’t know any numbers, only 999 but it’s not an emergency. I don’t want to cause a fuss. I’ll wait for him to have his bath tomorrow and I’ll find a number. I’ll get help.
Can hardly write. Think hands broken. Forgot to delete history. Made him so angry. Chest hurts. Everything hurts. Can’t see left eye. Phone ripped out. Laptop smashed up with my head. Got to get out. He’ll kill me if I stay. I’ll leave tomorrow bath time. Don’t know where. Need sleep now. Maybe I deserve this. Need help. He needs help. I love him. Why?
(According to the Office of National Statistics about 4.2% of men and 7.9% of women suffered domestic abuse in England and Wales during 2018. This equates to about 685,000 male victims and 1,300,000 women. Murders related to domestic violence are at a five year high.
One in four women and one in six men will be affected by domestic abuse during their lives. On average 104 women and 30 men are murdered every year in England and Wales due to domestic violence.
On average domestic abuse victims will have been assaulted 68 times before reporting it to the police.)
National Domestic Abuse Helpline 0808 2000 247
Men’s Advice Line 0808 801 0327
I used to be a pineapple, called Derek. But now I’m a human called Dave. Oh how I wish I’d stayed a pineapple, life was much more uncomplicated back then. Be a human they said, it’ll be fun they said. So I put my reincarnation request in. They lied. It’s much better to be a pineapple, oh how I miss those tropical days and balmy nights. Soaking in sunshine, growing and glowing with golden sweet juiciness, hanging out with other pineapples, chatting, laughing, sharing jokes and dreams. Magical underestimated days.
Being a pineapple is stress free. Being a human is not. Being human is complicated and not easy to grasp, I think it would take a couple of reincarnations to master it. I don’t want to try again. Pineapples, we’re easy, we’re all the same, humans come in different shapes, sizes, colours, religions, sexes, classes, intellects, emotions. Pineapples are pineapples. Pure love and enjoyment. I’m going to request to be a pineapple again. Or a mango. I knew a mango, Michael. He was cool.
Beth stood at the edge of the cliff, her eyes closed, listening to the waves thrashing against the rocks beneath her, feeling the wind slapping her, and whipping her hair across her face. Thirty-six years had culminated to this resolution. Thirty-six years of struggle and pain and feeling out of place. Thirty-six years of angst and self-torment. Even with her eyes closed, Beth could feel the moon shining a spotlight onto her. This was her moment, her final curtain call, time for that final bow.
She listened to those wonderful waves calling her name. About to take a step forward into the salty wet audience, she stopped herself. She listened again. It was definitely a cat meowing. Confused she opened her eyes and blinked to adjust to the moonlight. Taking a few steps back she turned around. Nothing. She could see the gorse bushes pushing against the wind, spiky warriors standing their ground, the blackness of the coast path in front of her, leading to inky blobs of rocks and boulders. It was ten o’clock on a deserted clifftop, her mind must be playing tricks on her, maybe as some cruel final encore. See, you are totally mad, jump off and disappear. A meow again, this time louder.
Beth peered into the darkness in the direction of the sound, still nothing.
Another louder meow was followed by two twinkling eyes materialising out from path in front of her. A black mini panther, the size of a domestic cat. The cat meowed again and slinked towards Beth, tail twitching in the air, stopping just in front of her.
Beth crouched down and held her hand out. ‘Hello. What are you doing up here?’
The cat cautiously approached her outstretched hand, sniffed, then rubbed his face against it. Beth scratched him under the chin and stroked his skinny body as it weaved around her hands.
‘You shouldn’t be up here, this wind will blow you off the cliff, you’ve got no weight on you, you silly thing. Do you live close by? Have you even got a home? What am I going to do with you?’ Beth continued her monologue of questions as the cat revelled in her attention and the wind played with her hair.
Beth stood up. ‘Well I can’t do this with you watching me. Do you want to come back with me?’
The cat meowed with perfect timing.
Beth smiled. ‘Just for one night though, I’ll postpone for one night. I’ve no more nights paid at the hotel so I’ll find you somewhere else to go in the morning. Deal?’
The cat meowed and rubbed against her legs.
‘Come on then.’ Beth started to trek back down the coast path towards the bay and the hotel. She glanced behind her, the cat was following her. She chatted to him as she navigated steep banks, slippery leaves and gnarled tree roots attempting to trip her. Every glance back was met with the vision of the black shadow with stars for eyes trotting after her.
Sneaking the cat into the hotel wasn’t a problem. Beth’s room was on the ground floor and there was a back door leading into her corridor from outside. Six stealthy feet scuttled along the corridor and into the room. After flopping onto the bed and partaking in strokes, head nudges and purrs, Beth called for room service, a tuna sandwich, a ham sandwich, and a chicken sandwich. The cat ate the contents of all three and lapped up water from a fine china saucer.
After a cleaning and grooming session the cat curled up next to Beth on the bed and slept soundly. Beth slept soundly for the first time in a long time too.
Beth observed the different shades of black fur on the cat as the morning sunlight seeped in through the curtains. Darkest brown tinges and indigo hues mingled in with the sleek tarry blackness. She felt calm and relaxed watching his belly move in and out contently and rhythmically with her breath. The cat yawned, opened his eyes slowly, and stretched his paw out into her chin, splaying his pads in a furry high five.
‘Good morning to you too.’
The cat licked his fur three times and stood up for a full body yoga stretch. Beth opened the curtains and made herself a coffee and the cat jumped off the bed, sitting knowingly by the patio door.
‘Time to go or do you just need the loo?’
Apparently it wasn’t time to go. After a toilet trip to the hotel flower beds the cat strolled back in for a wash before breakfast. Room service was ordered, extra sausage and extra bacon. Room service was eaten.
Beth’s suitcase was already packed. She’d packed it last night before going to the cliff top. She’d ask them to store her luggage for her until she decided on an altered plan of action. She dialled reception. ‘Hi, this is a strange question but is there anywhere on the island that rehomes cats or takes them in?…No, I found one this morning, I know pets aren’t allowed in rooms.’ She winked at the cat, the cat blinked back. ‘Oh ok, could you book me a taxi to take me there please?…Yes, as soon as possible…Thank you.’
‘I don’t take cats.’ The taxi driver shook his head to confirm this point. ‘They make a mess.’
Beth thought that was ironic considering he was wearing most of his breakfast remains on his sweatshirt, which was indeed sweaty too. ‘It’s my therapy cat. It’s for my anxiety. My disability cat.’
‘I don’t care if your leg has fallen off and your cat is carrying it, it’s not getting in my cab.’
The cat, in Beth’s arms, stretched his mouth wide in a yawn. Beth knew the cat was silently swearing at him. ‘But he’ll stay on my lap the whole time and it’s only a fifteen minute journey.’
‘I’ll pay you double the fare.’
The fifteen minute journey occurred in silence. The taxi tore through the tiny country lanes from the south of the island to the north. A fluffy bull, dangling from the rear view mirror, swung along to Coldplay. He’s trying to hang himself, thought Beth, having to put up with this mediocre droning. The cat sat happily on Beth’s lap. His left paw dangled over the edge of her leg and gently rested on the back seat. Beth smiled and whispered ‘rebel’ in her mind.
Beth paid the taxi driver but he drove off from the old farmhouse before she had time to ask him to wait. She kissed the top of the cat’s head and put him down on the driveway. Two chickens stuttered by in the background, the cat observed them casually while staying close to Beth’s legs, tail in the air, alert and wary.
A woman appeared in the garden to the side of the house, carrying a basket of washing. She was short, robust, with sparse spiky grey hair, wearing a blue shirt, jeans tucked into green wellies and a chunky cream cardigan. Beth would guess she was in her late fifties or early sixties.
‘Can I help you?’ Her voice was blunt and it didn’t sound like she wanted to help at all. She walked towards Beth, washing basket still in her arms.
‘Hello, yes, I hope so. I’ve got a cat.’
The woman stared down at the cat, then slowly back up to Beth. ‘Yes, you have.’
‘Well, it’s not really my cat, I found it last night, and it needs a home. The hotel I was staying at gave me your address.’
‘Oh they did, did they.’
‘Yes.’ Beth watched the woman, the cat watched a rogue chicken streak across the drive. Beth felt she was hostage negotiating. ‘I was hoping you could give the cat a home, or you might know someone who can.’
‘Why didn’t you just leave the cat where it was to wander back from where it came?’
‘It was on the top of Beauport Bay cliffs.’
The woman’s face remained impassive. ‘You don’t live here on Jersey then.’
‘No, I was staying at L’horizon hotel.’
‘It was my last night last night.’
The woman shifted the basket of washing to rest on her right hip and sniffed. ‘What time is your flight?’
‘You said it was your last night, are you flying home today? Where is home to you?’
Beth felt herself tense up, where is home seemed a more philosophical than geographical question. ‘Oh, I, um, I’m from Wales, I haven’t booked my flight yet.’
Aware she was stood soldier-like Beth tried to relax her stance by shifting more of her weight to her left side, she fiddled distractedly with the strap of her bag across her body.
‘What’s your cat’s name?’
‘I don’t know, and it’s not my cat.’
The cat rubbed against Beth’s legs.
‘What’s your name? Or do you not know that either?’
‘Beth.’ Beth found herself in automatic soldier stance again.
‘Well Beth, my name is Susan. Not Sue, or Suzy, or Sooze. Clear?’
Susan turned and marched off towards the house. Beth and the cat stood side by side watching her.
‘Well don’t just stand there waiting for a bloody written invitation, and bring your shadow too.’
She disappeared through the door and Beth hesitantly followed her in, her shadow padding behind her.
The kitchen was cluttered with crockery, books, and plants, an assault of colours vied for Beth’s attention. An aroma of moth balls, dusty libraries and Deep Heat challenged her nostrils. A large hefty wooden table was in the centre of the room with various sizes of crocheted coasters and placemats of a kaleidoscope of colours scattered on it. Susan was filling a kettle by the cooker.
‘You can have tea from the pot with me or a coffee, only instant coffee though, I have no time to mess about with those silly plunger things.’
‘Instant coffee is fine, thanks.’
The kettle boiled, Susan clattered about with a teapot. ‘Sit down then.’
Beth sat on one of the wooden chairs, the cat jumped up on her lap, massaged her legs while he got comfortable then curled up.
‘And you think he’s not your cat?’
Beth smoothed his fur as he purred. ‘I can’t look after a cat.’
‘Nonsense.’ The teapot, wearing a green and yellow crocheted cosy, was plonked on the table, followed by a mug of coffee emblazoned with ‘I love Ibiza’, followed by a tin of malted milk biscuits.
‘Thank you.’ Beth glanced at her mug. She doubted that Susan had been to Ibiza.
Before she had chance to ask her, an elderly German Shepherd plodded into the room and over to Susan. Susan ruffled his head and smiled.
‘This is Jim. Jim, we have visitors.’
Beth was slightly taken aback by Susan’s smile, it transformed her face so much. She turned her head to the dog. ‘Hello Jim.’
Jim slowly walked to Beth and sniffed her leg and the cat. The cat opened his left eye and studied Jim’s large damp nose and inquisitive eyes. After a brief moment Jim turned and plodded back out of the room.
Susan delved into the biscuits and started to munch on one. ‘Do you like animals?’
‘Of course, I like them more than people.’ Beth looked up to meet Susan’s studying of her. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be, animals are nicer than people, they don’t let you down or leave you.’ Susan pushed the biscuit tin towards Beth. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony.’
‘Thanks.’ Beth took a biscuit out and bit off half.
‘So if you leave your shadow here, what are you going to do next?’
Beth was glad she had a mouthful of biscuit to stall for an answer. She could hardly tell a complete stranger she would probably go throw herself of the cliff tonight. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Her shaky hands picked up her coffee and she was self consciously aware Susan had noticed this.
Susan slurped her tea. ‘Won’t anyone miss you?’
Beth’s hands gripped the mug handle tight. Had Susan read her mind? She stared into the abyss of coffee. ‘No.’
The following silence felt so deep to Beth, she had an urge to fill it. ‘I have no job, no family, no partner, no children, no friends, just a rented apartment full of dreams and regrets.’ Shocked at her honest revelation she shoved another half of a malted milk in her mouth to stop herself revealing anymore.
Susan nodded solemnly and slid the biscuit tin back towards herself, also taking another biscuit. ‘But now you have your shadow.’
Beth twitched a smile as she looked down at the sleeping cat, her eyes watered. She brushed off an escaped tear and desperately tried to swallow down the remainder of her biscuit without choking.
Susan swigged more tea and topped up her cup from the pot. ‘Do you have bags? A suitcase?’
‘Oh, yes, my suitcase is in storage at the hotel.’
Susan nodded. ‘We’ll go get it after lunch. You can stay in one of my spare rooms. It’s not fancy but it’s got a comfy bed, wallpaper, and a nice wardrobe.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t stay here.’
‘Why not? Are you a thief, a murderer or an arsonist?’
‘No I thought not, so you can stay. Until you decide what you and Shadow are going to do next.’ Susan nodded towards the cat. ‘He thinks you’re someone worth hanging around for, that’s good enough for me.’
‘But, I wouldn’t want to put you out.’
‘You won’t be, I’m not offering you the swanky hotel services you’ve been used to. A bed and board for you both in return for helping me look after the animals here in the kennels. Again, not a hotel, so you’ll eat what I cook for myself or cook and clean up after yourself if you don’t like my cooking.’
Beth realised she’d been holding her breath and exhaled deeply. ‘That’s really kind of you.’
‘Not being kind, I’m using you for cheap labour, my arthritis is playing up and you’ve come along at the right time.’
Beth looked down at Shadow on her lap, then back up to Susan. ‘Yes, I think I have.’
For the first time ever, Margaret severed a head. Not just any head, the head of her husband. Her now ex-husband. She was surprised how easy it was, considering she hadn’t meant to decapitate him. Her upper arm strength and swing action had shocked both her and Eddie. His face, suspended in petrified disbelief, gawked up from the blood sodden rug. Margaret watched how the crimson fluid delicately shaded the peonies in the pattern. She sat in the armchair, breathing heavily, and dropped the axe to the floor with a dull thud. Sinking back into the tatty brown leather she allowed herself to smile. Which turned to laughter. Followed by docker swearing at the unresponsive head.
She jerked her leg out and kicked the headless torso. She laughed again. With her breathing more controlled she stood and rolled the body onto its back. She kicked it hard between the legs.
‘You won’t be forcing anyone now will you.’
Margaret kicked Eddie’s torso again, with more force, but it was like kicking a sandbag. She stared at the lump of a husband and then sat back down, closed her eyes, and exhaled deeply, using the breathing techniques she’d learnt in counselling sessions. She could hear her therapist Lynne telling her to inhale for five then exhale for eight.
She obeyed Lynne’s voice. She felt calm. She thought back to meeting Lynne, and that timid frightened wren that she once was, scared of everything and Eddie, especially Eddie. Margaret didn’t think she’d be able to tell anyone about what Eddie did to her but she did and Lynne gave her tools to make her stronger. To rebuild herself.
Eddie had been such a charmer when Margaret had met him at the butchers counter when she was sixteen. He was handsome, funny, popular, and twenty-two, he could have had the pick of the village but he chose her. She felt so lucky. She would have done anything to keep him, and she did. Anything he wanted, he got, whether Margaret wanted it or not. Usually not.
Margaret had thought about ending her life many times to escape, a desperate solution for a desperate woman. Her daughter Lucy had made her think of other options. She couldn’t leave her with him, she’d already seen the way he was starting to look at her. She knew that as her own figure became less appealing Lucy was blossoming, and that’s what scared her the most, made her want to fight back, escape from her tormentor who was once her hero.
Life hadn’t changed overnight. Like mould it had started as small spores sparsely spaced and had spread slowly until she found it too hard to breathe. The young virile heartthrob evolved into an overweight lazy bully, the bright optimistic butterfly became cocooned. One-off demeaning comments developed into daily vitriol, the odd slap matured into routine beatings.
Margaret opened her eyes. She stared at the mess in front of her and glanced at the clock. It would be a few hours before Lucy came home from school. Plenty of time to clean up, she wasn’t going to risk jail for him. He wasn’t worth it. She’d wasted too many years on him already.
She’d pack a suitcase with his favourite clothes and passport and bury them in the garden with him. He used to tell anyone down the pub that she was a useless wife and he was going to leave her, well, now he had. A jolt of euphoric relief pulsed through her, she stood up and made her way to the garage to locate the spade, stamping on Eddie’s genitals on the way past.
‘No more Eddie, no more.’
Tony scraped up scraps of cartilage and bones that the machine had spat out. He tossed them into the incinerator while whistling ‘Another One Bites the Dust’. The stench didn’t bother him, he’d been a butcher before being imprisoned, humans smelled the same as animals to him. Ben didn’t have the same stomach as Tony, and even though he wore a face mask it was a struggle to not gag constantly.
Tony wiped his chunky calloused hands on his already bloodstained apron. ‘C’mon lad, time for a brew.’
Ben didn’t know if he could keep a cup of tea inside him, but he wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to get off the factory floor. He peeled his sweaty gloves off, left them on the table, and followed Tony into the small staffroom.
Tony already had the kettle switched on and was putting sugar in his mug. ‘Sugar?’
‘No thanks.’ Ben sat down on one of the blue plastic chairs and took his face mask off.
Tony smiled. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ He placed the mugs on the table and sat opposite Ben. ‘What you in for? Must be bad to be working production.’
Tony laughed. ‘What a waste. You’ve thrown your life away for hacking?’
‘I only moved money from one account to another, they got it all back, I’ll be out soon when I’m up for parole.’
Tony belly laughed again. ‘If you’re here in production parole isn’t on the cards for you.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Prisoners on the production line are never leaving here. Life means life here.’
‘But I didn’t get life, I got four years, so I’ll be out in two.’
‘So naïve. How old are you?’
Tony stopped smiling and shook his head. ‘You don’t have any family, do you?’
‘No, how do you know that?’
‘Because if you’re not here on production because you’re a lifer it’s because you don’t have family. No one to miss you or report you when you don’t get out.’
Ben stared down at the table, trying not to cry or pass out.
‘Lots of people here are the alone.’ Tony slurped some of his tea. ‘Not usually youngsters like you though.’
‘But I got a sentence, in a court, they can’t keep me here.’
‘They can do what want, they’re the government.’
‘People need to know this.’
‘People need to not know this, that’s why none of us on production will ever get out or have contact with anyone outside.’
‘I can’t stay here forever.’
‘You don’t have a choice. Unless you want to kill yourself, that’s your only choice. But then you’d end up in a sausage or a pie like the refugees and illegals.’
‘Surely that’s better than butchering and cooking people every day.’
Tony shrugged. ‘Depends on your view. Roof over my head, food in my belly, library full of books, gym to work out in. Throats to slit every day. I got a better life in here than I did outside.’
‘Doesn’t it make you sick? Killing innocent people? And eating them? Sending them out to be eaten by the public?’
Tony laughed and finished his tea. ‘Lad, no one is innocent in life, all have sin. I used to butcher animals for a living, human carcasses are no different. I’m in here for life, for murder. I killed my wife for sleeping around. I was happy killing the woman I loved most in the world, killing people I don’t know is a cinch.’
Ben stared at Tony, frightened to ask him anymore.
‘And eating them? You eat the flesh of a cow or pig, there’s no difference with a human. Flesh is flesh. You’re not a veggie are you?’
‘Well there you go then.’
‘The government should tell the people what they’re doing.’
‘Too many snowflakes like you would have a meltdown. It’s better if they don’t know.’
‘It’s dishonest, it’s wrong.’
‘Says you, banged up for stealing.’
‘I was stealing from companies who could afford it.’
‘Still deception however you want to dress it up. How would you solve the problem? Millions of hungry people on our island with not enough food to feed everyone, no help from the EU as we stuck two fingers up to them, thousands of illegals and refugees turning up here trying to take our depleted food from us.’
‘I don’t know. But I know this is wrong.’
Tony shrugged. ‘Embrace it or die. Going through the motions will drive you mad if you don’t believe it’s for the greater cause. I’ve seen many that breakdown. A few months ago a lad about your age threw himself in the furnace. Jerry. What a waste. Burnt to a crisp like pork crackling. He had a lot of meat on him, would have fed a good many people. Selfish really.’
‘I guess he wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Well if you ever feel like throwing yourself in the furnace, don’t. Give me the heads up and I’ll make it quick for you, neat slit to the throat. Might even make sure I get a product you end up in.’
Ben pushed his tea away from him, the urge to vomit was swelling.
An alarm rang out for a short burst making Ben flinch and a red light flashed over one of the double doors on the production floor.
‘Fresh meat.’ Tony stood up. ‘You been shown how to slit a throat properly?’
The colour drained away from Ben’s face. ‘No.’
‘Time for me to teach you then.’ Tony smiled and walked out the room.
Ben put his mask over his mouth and nose, took a deep breath, and slowly followed.
Tony picked up a six-inch knife from the wall rack. ‘This is the best knife. Sharp like a shark, cuts through flesh like a hot knife through butter.’
They walked towards the doors, silent now but red light still flashing.
‘Now you can watch me do one, then you can have a go.’
‘I don’t want to, can’t you do it all?’
‘I could, but you need to be able to do it. If you can’t do the whole job then that choice of sausage or worker will be taken away from you.’Tony put his hand on the door handle. ‘Don’t look into their eyes, it’ll make it harder for you.’ He opened the door and muffled shouts and cries began immediately.
Inside the white sterile room were ten naked people of male and female assortment bound securely by ropes, gagged and sat on the floor. Ages varied from twenty to sixty. All were shaking and wide eyed. Tony stepped into the room, followed by Ben who was struggling to pull his gloves on to his tremoring hands.
‘Start anywhere you like, some choose youngest to oldest or vice versa, I just work my way around the room.’ Tony seemed oblivious to the muffled cries and screams.
Ben automatically looked into sets of eyes as he scanned the room. He could feel himself hyperventilating and wished he would just pass out.
Tony approached the first livestock. A man in his forties, dark skinned, average build, trying to plead through his gag. Tony grabbed his hair and held him firmly upright. ‘You need to hold them still, it’s quicker for them that way.’ He placed the knife at the left side of the terrified man’s throat. ‘Start right over here and go in deep and slice across. The deeper you go the quicker it’ll be over for them. Don’t go doing stupid little papercuts coz you haven’t got the balls; it’ll make it worse for them and you.’ Tony sliced in one quick movement. Blood spurted out and then flowed down the naked man’s chest. The man’s throat gargled, his eyes grew wider, then he was motionless.
The remaining nine people screamed and cried from behind their gags.
Even with the mask over his nose Ben could smell faeces and urine as well as the iron aroma of the blood. It took all his focus not to vomit.
Tony turned and handed the knife to Ben. ‘You’re up. Better do one before you hit the deck.’
Ben took the knife reluctantly, his hands trembled more, and he felt so hot and sticky. Number two of the livestock was a pale Eastern European looking woman in her twenties. She was silent and staring at Ben with frozen terror. He put the knife tentatively to her throat, she pushed back against the wall and started to scream. Ben held her by her hair and gripped the knife with more force.
Ben’s mouth was dry, his tongue felt paralysed in its arid cave, he could barely whisper. ‘I’m sorry.’
Original 80’s Song Titles before they were changed by the artists to appeal to the mass market.
1. Simply Red – If You Don’t Know Me by Now (you haven’t been paying attention to our conversations you ignorant prat).
2. Fine Young Cannibals – She Drives Me Crazy (when she talks during the football).
3. Cher – If I Could Turn Back Time (I wouldn’t have gone for the cheesecake as your tiramisu looked nicer).
4. Belinda Carlisle – Leave a Light On (as I’ve just watched ‘Halloween’ and I’ve got a loose bladder).
5. Texas – I Don’t Want a Lover (I want a man who does the ironing for me).
6. Glenn Medeiros – Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You (unless you keep cooking kippers on a Tuesday).
7. Tiffany – I Think We’re Alone Now (apart from all the voices in my head and my invisible unicorn Neville).
8. Belinda Carlisle – Heaven Is a Place on Earth (called Scunthorpe).
9. Phil Collins – Two Hearts (make you Doctor Who).
10. Cher – I Found Someone (to sort out my plumbing, so take those rubber gloves off).
11. Rick Astley – Never Gonna Give You Up (unless I’m offered a bag of Malteasers).
12. Jackie Wilson – I Get the Sweetest Feeling (when I eat too much fudge).
13. Terence Trent D’Arby – If You Let Me Stay (I’ll put up that shelf you wanted and treat you to a bag of chips).
14. George Michael – I Want Your Sex (but a Mars bar will do if you’re tired).
15. Level 43 – Running in the Family (ended with me, I’m a walker).
16. Robert Palmer – Addicted to Love (and pizza and Haribo sweets).
17. Phyllis Nelson – Move Closer (because you smell of cottage pie and I really want to sniff you).
18. Tears for Fears – Everybody Wants to Rule the World (except me, I’m a lazy ass and just want to watch Bargain Hunt on TV).
19. Bruce Springsteen – Dancing in the Dark (because I’ve not paid the leccy again).
20. Kate Bush – Running Up That Hill (has given me shocking shin splints).
21. Paul Young – Every Time You Go Away (your best friend Laura plays Scrabble and eats pork pies with me).
22. Fine Young Cannibals – Johnny Come Home (your spaghetti hoops are starting to congeal).
23. Stevie Wonder – I Just Called to Say I Love You (and to cadge a lift home because I’ve missed the last bus).
24. Nik Kershaw – Wouldn’t It Be Good (if I was a ginger cat and lived with Mrs. Jones in number 42).
25. Cyndi Lauper – Girl’s Just Want to Have Fun (and a man that does the dusting).
26. Ultravox – Dancing with Tears In My Eyes (because I’ve stubbed my toe yet again on that ugly coffee table).
27. Chaka Khan – Ain’t Nobody (gonna to eat my last Rolo).
28. Siouxsie & The Banshees – Dear Prudence (stop eating the food on my shelf in the fridge or I will wrap your feet in cellophane while you sleep).
29. Dexy’s Midnight Runners – Come on Eileen (that table’s not going to take your weight much longer, and for Gawd’s sake put your boobs away
30. Yazoo – Only You (make me want to throw myself off a stepladder while eating a cactus).
31. Joan Jett & The Blackhearts – I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll (sausage rolls, swiss rolls, forward rolls and fat rolls).
32. Human League – Don’t You Want Me (suspended by fraying wool over a shark tank).
33. The Police – Every Little Thing She Does is Magic (apart from Yorkshire puddings, she can’t make those for jack.)
34. Odyssey – Going Back to My Roots (because peroxide prices are extortionate).
35. Abba – One of Us (is an annoying twat and it’s not me).
36. Depeche Mode – Just Can’t Get Enough (of you mum’s apple chutney).
37. The Police – Don’t Stand So Close to Me (I had a curry last night).
38. The Nolans – I’m in the Mood for Dancing (but my bunions have other ideas).
39. Blondie – Call Me (if you’re having pizza tonight, but not if you’re having anchovies on it).
40. Prince – Let’s Go Crazy (and have a dessert and the cheeseboard).
41. Duran Duran – Hungry Like the Wolf (so two pasties and a doughnut for me please).
42. Wham – Last Christmas (you didn’t buy me a chocolate orange and I can never forgive you).
43. Queen – Under Pressure (I eat lots of cake and watch the True Movie channel).
44. Whitesnake – Here I Go Again (picking up your socks from the floor, lazy git.)
45. The Cure – Pictures of You (make me want to vomit and I use them on my dart board).
46. Def Leppard – Pour Some Sugar on Me (as I’m having a hypo and my insulin’s not kicking in).
47. ACDC – Back in Black (because I’ve eaten too many Easter eggs and my backside is the size of Luxemburg).
48. Starship – Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now (unless my passport doesn’t come back because I left it late as per usual).
49. U2 – Where the Streets Have No Name (I get a bit lost and have to use my sat nav).
50. Bros – I Owe You Nothing (apart from maybe that 10p I borrowed in 1984 for a Curly Wurly).
Joe closed his eyes and felt the cold rain slap his face. It was perfect. It would be over soon. No more pain, no more anguish, no more self-loathing that consumed every cell in his body. He loosened his grip on the rail and took a deep breath.
‘Hey!’ A voice shouted louder than the rain.
Joe tightened his grip again, opened his eyes, and turned his head towards the voice.
‘Hey, what you doing?’ The voice in the rain belonged to a man in his thirties, black rain mac, dark hair made darker with the rain.
‘Isn’t it obvious? Go away.’
‘Well I can’t do that now.’
Joe stared back down into the agitated river. ‘Why?’
‘I couldn’t forgive myself.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive. Walk away, this’s nothing to do with you.’
‘It is now.’ The man took a step towards Joe. ‘You’ve kinda made it my business by doing it out here on a public bridge.’
‘I couldn’t find a private bridge.’
Again, the man took a step forward and was almost in touching distance of Joe. ‘Come down here, you’re making me nervous.’
‘Go away then.’ Joe stayed transfixed on the rushing water below.
‘Told you I can’t. Not gonna happen.’
Joe leant forwards with arms locked straight behind him. A glimmer of moonlight illuminated him, rain running down his face, like a marbled figurehead on the bow of a ship.
‘You’re really kicking off my anxiety here.’ The stranger shouted up at Joe.
Joe stayed poised in position.
‘My name’s Mick, what’s yours?’
‘Joe. And you’re an annoying bastard Mick.’
‘Technically correct on both counts, my dad ran off and didn’t marry my mum, and I have been told many times by many people I’m annoying. Usually by ex’s just as they dump me.’
Joe relaxed his arms and leant back against the rail. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘I don’t think he’s here, it’s Good Friday, I imagine he’s busy, so I’ll have to do.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘I just want you to come down here, stop me feeling anxious. And I’m getting soaked. I’ll probably get pneumonia. Do you want me to catch pneumonia Joe?’
Joe closed his eyes. ‘I just want to die.’
‘Can we make a deal? Some kind of trade off?’
Joe remained anchored.
‘If you come down, come back to my place and talk things through, if you still want to jump off a bridge I’ll find you a private one to do it from.’
‘Are you nuts?’
‘Says the man about to jump off a bridge?’
‘This makes perfect sense to me. More than you. You don’t even know me.’ The rain whipped at Joe’s face.
‘If you jump now I’m always gonna be thinking I could have saved you, and wondering why you jumped. Plus, there’s a crowd gathering here and I don’t want to look like a shit negotiator in front of them.’
Joe opened his eyes and turned his face to Mick. Looking down he saw five people clustered together. ‘Oh Christ.’ He turned his face back to the river. ‘Alright, make them go away and I’ll come down.’
Mick turned to the little group behind him and started waving them away. ‘You heard him folks, go on with your whatever you were doing.’
‘Should we call the police?’ A large woman in a navy anorak peered at Mick from under a pink polka dot umbrella.
‘No, it’s gonna be fine, I got this.’ Mick smiled at the lady. ‘I’ll look after him.’
She smiled back. ‘God bless you.’ She then dispersed into the night with the other onlookers.
‘Ok, people shooed away Joe.’
Joe turned and checked there was no audience, then climbed back over the rail and down onto the pavement. He stood face to face with Mick, inches apart. ‘You can go now.’
‘Are you kidding me? As soon as I walk off you’re gonna be straight up there again.’ Mick gestured to the bridge girder. ‘Look, I just live around the corner, come back to mine, chat, eat, drink, and like I said, if you still want to end it all I won’t stop you.’ Mick placed his hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘Do it for me, give me a clear conscience when you jump.’
Joe stared into Mick’s eyes, the deep blue seemed to swirl like the river. ‘Ok.’
Mick patted Joe’s shoulder again and grinned. ‘Good, come on.’
Mick ushered Joe into his basement flat. ‘It’s not a palace, excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting company, although to be honest I probably wouldn’t have tidied anyway.’
The living area was a riot of colours. Reds, oranges, pinks, and greens.
‘Let me get out of these wet clothes and I’ll get you something dry.’ Mick disappeared through a door at the opposite end of the lounge.
Joe stood in silence, dripping onto the doormat. He surveyed the room. A tired sofa had an orange woven throw draped over it. A terracotta tiled coffee table was adorned with different varieties of cacti and a New Scientist magazine. And the kitchen area in the corner, painted bright red, had dishes stacked up high on the draining board like a modern art installation.
Mick returned through the door, wearing jeans and a blue and white striped shirt. ‘I’ve put some clothes on the bed in there, you look the same size, and put your stuff on the radiator to dry out.’
Joe fiddled with a button on his jacket. ‘I’m ok, don’t want to be a bother.’
‘You’re bothering me dripping on my floor.’ Mick held out his hands. ‘Jacket.’
Joe slipped his jacket off and handed it to Mick.
‘Now go change.’ Mick smiled and hung the jacket up on the bulging coat rack behind the door.
Joe re-emerged from the bedroom in bare feet, with grey jogging bottoms on, and matching sweatshirt.
Mick was in the kitchen, the kettle boiling. ‘Sit yourself down. Tea, coffee, something stronger?’
‘I’m an alcoholic.’
Mick shrugged. ‘Ok. Tea or coffee then?’
‘One please.’ Joe sat down and sunk into the sofa.
Mick pottered about and carried over two mugs of tea to the sofa. He handed Joe his tea and sank down next to him. ‘So. Cut to the chase, why do you want to kill yourself?’
Joe took a sip of his tea then placed it on the table, he shrugged. ‘I just don’t want to live anymore. I’m a failure, I have nothing to live for. I can’t go on anymore.’
‘Friends, family, colleagues. There must be people that wouldn’t want you to kill yourself?’
‘The only friend I had ran off with my wife, my parents are dead, my sister is a self-absorbed bitch who lives in France, I’m self-employed, well, I was, my business has just gone bankrupt. So, you see, no one would care if I’m here or not.’
Mick took a sip of his tea. ‘Ouch. That is pretty shit.’
‘There’ll be other women, I’m sure your wife wasn’t the first woman in your life and she doesn’t have to be the last. You’re a good-looking guy. Granted you haven’t got a lot going for you right now, so more of a potential catch than a current catch, but you’re not dead in the water in that department yet.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I could never love anyone again. I could never trust anyone again.’
‘You will.’ Mick combed his hands through his damp hair. ‘You can get another job easy enough, might not be your own business but you can earn money. What did you do?’
‘A chef, I had my own restaurant.’
‘There you go, everyone needs to eat, you can get a chef job anywhere.’
‘I’m too tired to start again from the bottom.’ Joe leant forwards, cradling his head in his hands. ‘I just can’t. I don’t want to.’
‘How old are you?’
Mick tucked his legs up and under himself. ‘Hardly past it. You could have an exciting bright vivid future. Starting with this blank canvas in this moment right now. The future can be anything you want it to be.’
Joe lifted his head from his hands. ‘That’s just it, I don’t want the future to be anything, I don’t want a future. I’ve had enough.’
‘I think you’re lying.’ Mick took a gulp of tea and then placed his mug on the table.
‘I think you do want a future.’
‘Look, you’ve been kind to me, but you don’t know me, I want to die.’
‘Nope, you’re a liar.’ Mick folded his arms.
‘I’m not lying.’
‘If you’re not lying to me you’re lying to yourself.’
Joe sat up straight, frowning. ‘With respect you’re talking shit.’
‘With no respect, you’re the one talking shit.’ Mick grinned.
Joe stood up. ‘Thanks for the tea, I’m going.’
‘Where to? In my clothes? Gonna jump off the bridge again, oh no wait, you didn’t jump did you, because you don’t want to die.’
‘I didn’t jump because an asshole like you came along and interrupted me.’
‘If you really wanted to die you wouldn’t have let an asshole like me stop you. You’d have just jumped. You wouldn’t have even chosen a busy bridge to jump from if you were serious, you wanted someone to stop you.’ Mick uncrossed his arms and uncurled his legs. ‘Sit down Joe.’
Joe sat slowly back down. ‘If you didn’t think I was going to really jump why did you stop.’
‘Why didn’t you choose a whiskey?’
‘When I offered you a drink, you told me you were an alcoholic and you chose tea.’
‘If you were an alcoholic and wanted to die you’d choose a whiskey. Why stay sober if you don’t even want to live?’
‘Bullshit. You’re self-indulgent, loving to be the centre of attention in the drama you create.’
‘I don’t have to sit here listening to this crap.’ Joe stayed seated, his shoulders slumped forwards.
‘No, but you are, because you love being the centre of the drama. You certainly don’t want to kill yourself.’
‘I do. I’m just a coward.’ Joe started to sob. ‘I don’t want to live but I’m too much of a coward to kill myself. How pathetic is that.’
‘That’s pathetic.’ Mick sighed. ‘And sad. Pathetic and sad.’
‘You should have left me on the bridge.’ Joe wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and sniffed snot bubbles back up his nose.
‘To do what, be ‘rescued’ by a different passer-by?’ Mick placed his hand on Joe’s knee. ‘This cycle would just keep repeating itself, wouldn’t it? The torment would never go.’
Joe nodded. ‘I’m such a failure I can’t even kill myself.’
‘Do you know what’s not a failure Joe?’ Mick stared into Joe’s eyes. ‘Meeting me. That’s a definite result on your part. Do you know what I do Joe? For a hobby that is, my day job is butchering.’
Joe shook his head, his eyes not breaking connection with Mick’s.
‘I watch the bridge. I was in the café watching you. I sit in the window there and watch for leapers. Lost souls that don’t want to live anymore. Then I talk them down, just like I did with you Joe. A few leapers have a cup of tea with me, are grateful for my intervention, and go back to their lives, thankful for the stranger that saved them.’
‘You have some sort of a hero complex?’
Mick removed his hand from Joe’s knee. ‘Oh no, I don’t enjoy helping people walk back into their dreary lives. I enjoy helping the people who really want to end it all.’
‘I’m confused. You talk them out of jumping.’
‘Watching someone jump to their death is not a thrill Joe. Helping someone to their death is.’ Mick relaxed back into the sofa, resting his hands on his thighs. ‘When someone tells me they really want to die but can’t do it themselves, I help them. Assisted suicide.’
Joe turned to face Mick more, perching on the edge of the sofa. ‘How? Drugs.’
‘Administering drugs and watching someone slowly slip away is also not a thrill Joe. And it’s not good for the decider either. If you decide you want to die, you want it to be over with quickly. Don’t you?’
Joe nodded. ‘What do you do then?’
Mick’s eyes sparkled. ‘I use a knife. Quick and easy. People can request where they want to be stabbed. Throat or heart are the most popular.’
‘What happens after?’ Joe frowned. ‘With the bodies?’
‘What’s it matter? They’re dead. No one loves them enough to want to bury them.’ Mick sighed and stood up. ‘Your clothes might be dry now.’
Joe stared up at him. ‘What?’
‘Your clothes, dry. You can put them back on and go back to your life of drama.’ Mick started walking towards the bedroom.
Mick stopped mid step and turned to Joe. ‘Pardon?’
‘Heart. I want you to stab me in my heart.’
Mick walked back to the sofa and crouched down, he held Joe’s hands. ‘Are you sure? I don’t think you really want this.’
‘I do. Please.’ Joe squeezed Mick’s hands. ‘I can’t go back. I don’t want to.’
Mick’s voice was almost a whisper. ‘Only if you’re one hundred per cent sure. I’m not a murderer. I’m a suicide assistant.’
Joe gazed into Mick’s eyes. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Ok.’ Mick nodded slowly. He stood up and slinked silently into the bedroom. When he came back out he had an eight inch hunting knife and some plastic sheeting which he laid down on the floor, moving the coffee table slightly to make room. He indicated to Joe’s clothing. ‘Take my tracksuit off and lie down.’
‘I have to be naked?’
‘It makes it easier to clean up after, and saves me a tracksuit.’ Mick grinned. ‘Coz you’re gonna shit and piss yourself, everyone does. It’s perfectly natural.’
‘Oh, ok.’ Joe nodded, stone faced, and stood up starting to undress.
‘It’s only a naked body, I’ll only be looking where I’m stabbing.’ Mick started to unbutton his shirt. ‘I’ll take this off to avoid blood splatter. Dry cleaning bills are a bitch.’
Joe stood naked in front of Mick, his hands hung loosely in front of him.
‘Lie down Joe.’
Joe led down on his back. His hands alternating between by his sides and covering his privates.
‘Relax Joe, leave your hands by your side.’ A topless Mick straddled Joe and lined up the knife on his chest between the fourth and the firth rib, the tip of the blade resting gently on his skin. ‘Whenever you are ready I need you to say to me ‘please take my life’.’
Joe nodded. His breathing deepening. Mick leant over Joe, his two hands gripping the knife. The two men stared into each other’s eyes. The silence was deafening.
‘Please take my life’.
Mick thrust the knife at an angle into Joe’s chest, swept it swiftly along, then removed it rapidly. Joe’s eyes widened like a goldfish as a jet of blood volcanoed upwards splattering Mick. No scream came from Joe, just a gasp and a gargle, his eyes scared and pleading faded to acceptance and regret as he drifted down into deaths warm embrace.
Mick leant forward and kissed Joe gently on the forehead as the last beat of life left him. He sat upright on Joe and, with his head back and back arched, he massaged the blood that was decorating him into his chest. Licking his lips he started to undo his trousers.
Day 27 – I’ve done it. I’ve eaten human flesh. I’ve eaten Mark. Not all of him, just his leg. He tastes good. I’ve buried the rest of him in the snow. For later. Except his head. I can’t look at his face. I’ve covered it with a Waitrose carrier bag. He has a judgmental frown frozen to his face. I don’t know why, he’d do the same. I’m going to dig more fridges outside. Now I know I can survive and look after Kate.
Day 1 – I wish the news would stop whipping up a media frenzy re the weather. I’m sure they’re given a backhander from the bakeries to make people go crazy on the bread buying front. And I wish the sheeple didn’t go and clog the supermarkets buying six loaves per person. Crazy people.
Kate dumped me today, I don’t think that’s helping my mood. I knew it was coming though, I’ve known about her and Mark for weeks. I should’ve kept going to the gym, if I had a six pack like him she might not have looked elsewhere.
Day 2 – Advice today on the news on how to keep warm in the impending cold storms, some prick telling me to ‘layer up’ and not just wear a jumper. If someone needs to be told how to keep warm, then they shouldn’t be wasting my air space. Why not layer up with all the bread you’ve just bought you nutters. Maybe shove a couple of croissants in your pants too.
Kate texted me, she asked me to gather up all her stuff ready for her to collect. I got excited when I saw her name ping onto my phone, part of me wanted her to say she’d made a mistake, part of me knew I wasn’t that lucky.
Day 3 – The snow has fallen here now. Fed up already of seeing posts on Facebook re snow days. Seems most of my friends are now five-year old’s making snow angels on their lawns. I’m probably only grumpy because I want the day off from work too, or a week, having to be nice to customers when inside I’m crumbling is draining me. But no, I live within walking distance from work, according to Mr. Jacobs, so I’m the sucker trekking in while Ben is warm at home drinking hot chocolate with whiskey and watching Netflix marathons. Twat.
Haven’t heard from Kate today.
Day 4 – Suggested we close today as we didn’t have any customers, but Mr. Jacobs said no. Who the hell wants to have their eyes tested in a blizzard? Unless they’re worried that all they can see is whiteness. More snow forecast on the doom and gloom box. I think I’ll throw a sickie tomorrow, I can’t take anymore of rubber band ball boredom. And sneaking onto Facebook to see people enjoying the snow is annoying me now.
Kate changed her profile from ‘in a relationship with Adam’ to ‘in a relationship with Mark’. It physically hurt to read that. She could’ve at least had a day of being ‘single’. And all her friends obviously knew as there were just thumbs up and heart reactions to the post. I wanted to write something stinging in the comments, so Kate would know how much I was hurting, but what’s the point, she doesn’t care anymore.
Day 5- Tried to order extra warm gloves from Amazon and they’re not offering next day prime delivery due to the weather. No local shops are open due to the weather. So, I guess my hands will just have to be cold, due to the weather. At least I got sent home early from work today. Mr. Jacobs has had enough of sitting in a silence, and watching me make a ball from elastic bands was probably doing his head in just as much as mine. Only one supermarket open in town, it’s starting to look empty. Those stupid people bulk buying have stripped it. Selfish twats.
Day 6- It’s starting to feel like Groundhog Day watching the news, snow, snow and more snow. More due, no end in sight. I might go back up to the supermarket today, get some tins in.
Waitrose was the only shop open in town, full of people like me who had braved a walk in, covered in snow and looking for essentials. Not many essentials left though. I bought tins of soup, packets of cereals, jelly cubes and chocolate. There was no bread, but packets of cream crackers a plenty, got loads of those. Not many staff in so a bit of a queue. There was a strange eerie vibe amongst us in there. Seemed like we were all sizing up each other’s baskets, and each other. The checkout lady said they were closing in an hour and didn’t know when they were going to open again. I went back around and got dry roasted nuts, Battenburgs, and Jaffa Cakes. I’m so cold my bones are numb.
Packed up Kate’s stuff, some toiletries, some clothes, and ‘The Secret’ book. The irony isn’t lost on me. Oh, and a pot of Nutella in the fridge which I’m keeping. Not much really considering she stayed here a lot. I guess she always knew it wasn’t long term for her.
Day 7- Lights have flickered a bit today and the tv keeps threatening to go off. I’ve charged up my kindle and phone. I’ve fished out some torches from the shed and dotted them around the house. The Granger’s packed up their four by four and drove off, I guess they’re going to stay with one of their kids and their families. That only leaves me here and Mark down the lane now.
Kate texted, she’s on her way to collect her stuff. I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means, because I know she can’t get here from her parents’ house in this snow. I have her belongings in a cardboard box on the dining table now, it looks like a weird mini shrine.
I just cried for the first time since my mum died. I feel such an idiot. Kate picked up her stuff. She looked beautiful, all wrapped up with her pink wooly hat on, rosy cheeks, and smelling so wonderful with that jasmine perfume on. She didn’t want to stay for a drink, didn’t want to bring snow into mine on her boots. She said she was glad we could be grown up about things. I just smiled and watched her walking down the lane to his house. That’s when I cried. I’m glad I didn’t do it in front of her. The thought of her in his bed tonight, cuddling up to him, the thought of seeing them as I walk to work, life you are a bastard. I hate Mark, I hate myself, I hate the world.
Day 8- I’ve given up clearing the path from the lane to the house, the postman has stopped coming now anyway. It must be three feet deep out there now. I don’t want to go outside, I don’t want to see them, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Day 9- More snow overnight, what a surprise. Four feet now. News channels are showing carnage all over the country. Roads unpassable. Looting in cities. I’m glad I live here in the sticks. Well, the one exception. I’ve seen Kate through the window, trying to walk Mark’s dog. The dog doesn’t want to go, he just pees in the garden and they go back in. I stand to the side of the window, I don’t want her to see me watching.
Day 10- The internet has gone. Well, the landline broadband. Mobile phone internet is still up and running. The news is all the same though, no end in sight to the big freeze. Reading more now, classics, Kate always said I should read more, of the quality kind. Frankenstein is my current one. Different to the film. I prefer the film. I bet Mark prefers the book. I wish I’d picked up more varieties of soup, I’m fed up of tomato now. It’s Kate’s favourite flavour.
Day 11- No mobile signal. After an initial panic I’ve realised that no one phones me, and I don’t phone anyone. Only Kate, but not anymore.
Day 12- The satellite signal has gone down. No more TV for me. At least I have lots of DVDs I can watch. Time for a Lord of the Rings marathon. More snow. Less soup.
Day 13- Now the electrics have gone. Cold soup is gross but better than nothing. Going to bed when it gets dark so that I can save the torch batteries. Got all my clothing out to keep warm, layering up.
Day 14- Still no electricity. It feels weird being cut off from the rest of the world and not knowing what’s going on. The snow isn’t stopping. I cleared a path to the shed and found the camping stove. At least I can heat my soup. My last can.
Day 15- Snow.
Day 16- Snow.
Day 17- More fricking snow.
Day 18- I have no food left. I’ve even eaten Kate’s Nutella. I feel I need to go out and look for food, but I’m also worried about conserving my energy, it’s a six-mile round trek into town, and what if it’s for nothing? I wonder how much food Kate and Mark have.
Struggled into town, my legs hurt so bad walking through the snow. No surprise that nothing was open. It was like a deserted ghost town. I only saw two people, one man pulled his hood up and walked in the other direction when he saw me, the other man just blanked me when I said hi. Weird. I wondered if I’d imagined him. A few shops had their doors broken and had been looted. I stood and stared for a while, surprised this had happened in this small town. I’m ashamed to say I went in and took items too. I’ve written them down and will pay the owners when this craziness stops. I took cheap wine from Bargain Booze, someone had beaten me to all the spirits, and throat sweets and paracetamol from a ransacked chemist, all the stronger drugs had gone.
I saw a dead cat on the way back and was tempted to bring it home to cook it. But then I thought it might have died from a disease and not just the cold. How has it come to this? Stealing from looted shops and eyeing up dead animals on the roadside. Life is a bastard.
Day 19- I’ve woken up cold and hungry. I thought about setting traps to catch rabbits, but the snow is so deep it wouldn’t work. And I haven’t even seen any rabbits.
Day 20- Mark came outside with the dog today. I hope Kate is ok. He cleared the square in his garden and left the dog out while he popped back in. Christ, I felt myself wondering how the dog would taste.
Day 21- I stared at myself in the mirror. Having not shaved for weeks I saw my dad staring back at me. How I remember him anyway, he’s probably dead by now, I wouldn’t know, he didn’t want responsibility. He didn’t want me. Did he feel a failure like me? Is that why he walked away? If I had kids they’d be better off without me.
I saw Kate at the upstairs window. I waved. She didn’t wave back. She probably didn’t see me, the houses are quite far apart. She’s the only person that wanted me. Until Mark stole her away from me. Now I just have wine and pills to look forward to.
Day 22- Wine, you taste like cheap vinegar, but you make me forget what a loser I am. For that, I love you.
Day 23- Why aren’t the military or the police dealing with this shit? We’re all going to die. Maybe most people have. A second ice-age? Is this what happened? Everything just froze to death.
I broke into the Granger’s house this afternoon. I didn’t need to clear a path as the snow is so deep and compact you can just walk on top of it. They had porridge oats in their cupboards, I have no milk to make proper porridge but at least I can eat the oats. I took their drinks. Whiskey and a collection of wines. Some vile sherry too, it wouldn’t be my first choice but wasn’t going to leave it behind. I also got a pot of mustard, a jar of lemon curd, jars of tomato pasta sauce, tinned vegetables and tinned fruit. I had a good look around their house. Mrs. Granger has a nice collection of lingerie, not what I would have expected for an older lady. Mr. Granger has a rifle, I didn’t know that. I took that too, with a packet of bullets. Maybe I can hunt something. The food I’ve taken from them won’t last long.
Day 24- Feeling better today, could be the food, could be the better wine. I’m going to see if I can find anything to hunt to day. I’ve never shot a gun before. I’m strangely excited.
Nothing, not even a bird in the sky. The only movement I watched through the scope was Mark and the dog. They went into the garden again for the dog to do its business. Mark went back inside to give the dog some privacy. I followed the dog with the rifle scope. It didn’t have much energy, it must be hungry itself. It would be kinder to put it down. I haven’t seen Kate in a while now. I hope she’s ok.
Day 25- Mark came outside with the dog again. Where’s Kate? What’s he done to her? I’m going to go check on her. Tempted to take the gun with me but if he sees me walking towards him with that he could kick off and I don’t have the energy to waste. I’ll take the small vegetable knife from the kitchen with me. Just for self defense if he tries anything.
Smug bastard. He was in the garden with the dog. I asked him where Kate was. He said she didn’t want to see me. I asked him to ask her. He said she was ill in bed. I asked to see her. He said no, she was sleeping. Bastard. He’s not looking after her properly, like I would. He went in and locked the door. Stupid twat left the dog outside. I can see him now out the window, shouting for the dog to come to him. You’ll need to shout louder Mark, he can’t hear you with the boiling water bubbling around his ears on my camping stove.
Day 26- I slept well. Surprising what a good protein meal can do for you. I feel stronger today. That’s good, Kate needs me to be strong now. She needs me. I’m focused now. I think I can do it. I know I can do it.
I might have a long wait. He won’t be out for the regular dog toilet breaks. I’ve opened the window slightly, enough for the tip of the rifle to poke out. And I’ll wait. As long as it takes.
Two hours. That’s all I had to wait. He went outside calling for the dog again. My first shot missed. Excited fingers. Luckily Mark didn’t twig what the noise was until I lined him up again for another shot. I got him in the chest. He hit the ground hard. I watched. Ready to fire again. He didn’t get up. I ran down the stairs and down the lane. He was still on the ground. The snow under him was vivid red. I stared. I looked up at the window, no Kate watching. I dragged him back here. Exhausted now. Must rest. Kate needs me.