The Concrete Grove

“Little shits,” said Tom. Something hit the side of the car — a stone, a bottle — and Tom slammed on the brakes. The kids ran off in the direction of the skateboard park, laughing and pushing each other as they moved as a pack along the middle of the street.

“Cunts.” The amount of venom in his voice shocked her. This was the first time Lana had heard him use such extreme language.

“Forget it,” she said. “It isn’t even worth getting upset about.”

Tom put the car into gear and it moved forward, but at a slower pace than before. He kept glancing into the rear-view mirror, looking for someone upon which to take out his frustration. This was another change: the anger, the barely repressed aggression. It frightened her more than she could say.

Tom parked the car outside the flats but made no move to get out.

“Are you coming in?” Lana took off her seatbelt and waited for him to respond.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice sounded rough and hoarse. “My head’s all over the place right now. I’m finding it difficult to stay focused. Everything that’s happening… it’s just confusing me.”

“Everything with us?” She placed her hand on his knee and squeezed lightly. Just a small gesture; it was all that she dared.

“No, not just that. Things are spinning out of control. It feels like being at the centre of a whirlwind and watching the edges come apart.” He turned and looked directly at her for the first time since they’d got in the car. “Know what I mean?”

Lana took her hand off his knee. “Yes. Yes, I do. I know exactly what you mean. It’s happening to me, too — there are things I haven’t told you yet but really should. Other stuff that’s happened to me and Hailey.” She took a deep breath. “Come up to the flat and we’ll talk.”

Tom opened the door and got out of the car. He still looked slightly dazed, as if he hadn’t slept for days, but he was a lot calmer than before. He went round to the passenger side and opened the door for her, stepping back onto the kerb. “Madam,” he said, and this time his smile looked natural.

“Thanks,” said Lana, stepping out of the car. She took her keys from her purse and walked towards the flat, certain that he would follow.

Once they were inside, with the door locked, Lana began to relax.

“New TV?” Tom was standing beside the set Hailey had been given, reaching out to touch the screen.

“No. The mother of one of Hailey’s friends brought it round. A drunken act of charity.” She put down her bag and headed for the kitchen, craving a drink. “Wine okay?”

“I’m driving, but why the hell not? I mean, after all the shit that’s been raining down on us lately I doubt a drink’s going to kill me.” Again he smiled, and again it was a normal expression, completely unforced, if a little stiff and weary. “So you weren’t here when this woman brought the TV?”

“I was out. At Monty Bright’s gym.” She took the stopper from a half-finished bottle of cheap white Zinfandel and poured the wine into two glasses. Her movements were forceful and exaggerated; she felt angry that he kept talking about the stupid television.

“Sorry.” Tom walked over to where she was standing. He stopped on the other side of the partition shelves and reached for one of the glasses. “I’m babbling. I feel like I’m already drunk.”

“Well,” said Lana, “maybe a couple of glasses of this crap will sober you up.” She raised her glass and tilted it. “Chin-chin.”

They both drank in silence, not lowering their glasses until they were almost empty.

“I think we needed that,” said Tom. “Okay. I’m assuming you have a plan.” He didn’t say the word, but it stood between them like a third presence in the room: Murder.

“Yes, I have a plan. There’s something you need to know — to see, actually. I can’t explain it to you without showing you, and even then you need to look sidelong.” She went to the fridge and took out a fresh bottle of wine. Her hands shook as she opened it.

“I’m struggling to keep up with you here.” Tom took the bottle from her and finished the job, then poured the wine into their glasses. He kept drifting away from her: one minute he was there, in the moment, and the next his eyes seemed to fog over and he was elsewhere.

“I need you with me, Tom.” She moved closer to him, placing a hand on his elbow. “You have to be right here beside me, not thinking about anything else.”

Tom smiled, and she didn’t like the look of his face: sickly, feverish. For a moment he looked like a crazy man, standing there in her kitchen with a big shit-eating grin on his face and a bottle in one hand. Right then, he looked like a killer. Lana was torn between feelings of gratitude and fear.

“Are you here? Are you with me, or are you off somewhere else?”

The smile vanished. His eyes regained their focus. “Yes. Sorry. I keep doing that… drifting off inside myself. My mind’s wandering. There’s too much… too much going on.”

She walked into the lounge area, clutching her glass. Her steps felt light, as if she were floating an inch above the carpet. This whole conversation felt like one she’d dreamed before, or maybe it was a premonition of a dream she’d not yet had. Even these thoughts were dreamlike; as vague and elusive as handfuls of dust.

She walked to the hallway, stopping and turning around to face Tom. “Listen, this is really fucked up. Okay? What I’m about to show you — you’ve never seen anything like this before.” She put down her glass on the floor, standing it next to the skirting board.

“Do you ever get that feeling?” said Tom, his shoulders slumping. “You know the one, where everything feels like its slipping out of your control. Like that dream, where you’re running on sand, moving your legs as fast as you can, but you’re getting nowhere. You’re just running on the spot while the world flows by, quick as a flash.” He looked like he might faint; his face was pale and his pupils were tiny black pinpoints at the centre of his eyes.

“Come on. Stay with me. I need you.” Lana was beginning to doubt that he was capable of what she had in mind — something had happened; he had changed too much. Was it something he’d experienced last night, back at his cosy little semi in suburbia? “What’s gone on? Why are you being like this? It’s like you’re on drugs or something.” Was that it? Had he turned to chemicals to try and tune out the madness around them?

His head snapped forward and he looked directly at her, his pupils returning to their natural size. “She’s not the person she used to be. Helen… she’s become someone else. Something else.” There was such a look of imploring in his face that it made her feel sick.

“Stop feeling so guilty about betraying your wife. We didn’t set out to hurt her.”

Tom shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. We all change. Every one of us, and sometimes we have to leave people behind. You and me, we’ve changed, too. We’ve come together, changing from individuals to become a team.” She believed approximately half of this — the rest was said just to put him at ease, to make him less self-pitying. “Everybody changes. People get hurt. That’s just how life is for the likes of us.”

Tom leaned against her. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh.

“We’re all victims. Every one of us. None of us gets out of this unscathed.” She kissed him, and he responded with force, pushing her backwards so that she slammed into the wall. She lifted one leg, wrapping it around his thighs, and pulled at his hair with her right hand while the left hand rubbed at his back, his arse. “We’re all hurting,” she whispered, between kisses. “We all get hurt.”

She fumbled with his trousers, tugging them loose and pulling them down as far as she could. She slid one arm down between their bodies and grabbed his cock, pulling that, too, so that he moaned in a mixture of pain and anticipation.

“Are you sure?” His voice was shaky.

Lana nodded. “It won’t hurt, not if we’re careful.”

He bit at her throat, licking under her chin, and slammed his body against her. His hands grabbed at her clothing, ripping her T-shirt and rolling her leggings down past her waist.

When the telephone rang she didn’t even hear it, not until he stepped back, blinking, looking like a man who had just been rudely awakened from a dream. Lana’s hand was damp. He had peaked before they’d even begun…

“What?” then she heard the sound of the telephone. “Just ignore it.” She kicked off her shoes and leggings and stood there in her torn T-shirt and knickers. Her legs were shaking; adrenalin coursed through her body, putting her on edge and ridding her body of the aches and pains. This was a fight-or-fuck moment, and her flesh knew exactly which of the two acts it had chosen.