“Yes, sir – this way.”
Sitting on the small padded stool provided he pulled off his trainers, the rank odour of stale sweat immediately flooding the curtained off cubicle. Acutely aware that the shop assistant was loitering nearby, he felt a little embarrassment at the fact that the young woman would almost certainly be able to smell it and assume that he was normally this unclean. He added socks to his mental shopping list.
Along with his new clothes and toiletries, he also purchased a ruck sack and drinking bottle, raising a few eyebrows at the checkout by insisting on wearing his new clothes – the checkout-girl having to stretch across to him to scan the barcodes.
As he exited the store, the burly security guard still eyeing him suspiciously, he threw his old clothes into a bin and headed back towards the motel on the town’s outskirts.
22
“What’s for dinner?”
The lack of any cooking smells coming from the kitchen pissed Steve off the second he opened the apartment’s front door. His headache had not improved since that morning, his temper growing rapidly shorter as his day had progressed.
“I’m in the bedroom.”
Steve strode across the dining room from the kitchen and into the bedroom, finding his wife curled up in bed, dark streaks of mascara running from her eyes.
“Why haven’t you fucking cooked anything?”
Despite seeing Sam’s obvious distress, Steve was devoid of any sympathy.
“I haven’t got the energy to cook…my head is pounding, I can barely stand - I feel so fucking exhausted…”
“You and me both, babe. Surely you could have just chucked something in the oven before you crawled into bed?”
As he waited for a response he spotted the cracks in the walls.
“What the fuck’s happened to the walls?”
Sam raised her head and turned, trying to focus on the wall behind her. In spite of her blurred vision, she could see what her husband was shouting about – multiple, thin fissures were spread across the paintwork like fractals.
Was the wall like that when she got home?
“How did that happen? “ She couldn’t recall noticing the cracks earlier but then, she hadn’t been in any fit state to notice anything. “Is it the building settling like the sales woman said?”
“Fucking settling, are you stupid? If it settles any more it’ll be in a pile of dust on the fucking floor.”
Steve stomped around the bed to take a closer look, stubbing his foot on the handyman’s discarded toolbox.
“Shit! Whose is this?”
Sam crawled across the bed to peer over the edge at the offending object. “What is it?”
“What d’you mean ‘What is it?’ – It’s a fucking toolbox – what’s it fucking look like, you dumb -” Steve’s words trailed away and paranoia dawned in his face. “You fucking slut! Where is he?”
“Where’s who?” Sam screamed, “What are you fucking talking about?”
“I see it all now – you come home early and fuck the handyman!”
“What?”
“He must’ve given you a fucking good pounding, banging the headboard into the wall, cracking the shit out of the plaster. C’mon, where is the fucker?”
Steve barged into the en-suite, checking behind the door when he saw the small bathroom was devoid of life. Turning back to his terrified wife, he laughed, “No…surely not – not in the fucking wardrobe…” He banged his fists against the mirrored doors, ‘Get out here now, you fucking cunt! I’ll kick the living shit out of you!”
When no one appeared, Steve yanked the door open in frustration, smashing his fists wildly into the rack of hanging clothes, hoping to make contact with flesh.
“Stop it, Steve. Stop it! You’re scaring me!”
Sam reached for her husband, attempting to calm him down. Steve grabbed her chin roughly, pulling her face up towards him.
“I’ll fucking scare you, you fucking slut! When I find ‘lover boy’ I’ll fucking kill him – then I’ll fucking deal with you!”
He spat in her face before pushing her back onto the bed.
Sam wailed - her tears a mix of fear, anger and the pain in her head which was now almost unbearable. Ignoring her cries, Steve looked towards the window, desperate to focus on something outside of the bedroom and his thoughts of what his cheating whore of a wife had been doing in it. As he stepped towards the curtains, the floorboard creaked under his feet.
“Fuck me! The cunt was so desperate to fuck your ass that he didn’t even bother to do the fucking job he came here for!”
He picked up the toolbox and hurled it across the room with a grunt of fury, the heavy box smashing a chunk of plaster out of the far wall.
23
Showered, shaved and reeking of cheap deodorant, Roger stepped through the door of the Chillingworth Arms.
A few locals sitting at the bar briefly paused their conversations to turn and look at the stranger in their midst before continuing with their boozy banter.
“Evening, sir. What can I get you?”
Roger stepped up to the bar where the jovial landlord beamed at him in welcome.
“A pint of lager, please…and do you have a menu?”
“Certainly.” The landlord placed an empty glass beneath the lager tap then handed him a laminated card before pouring the drink. “Take a seat at a table, sir and my daughter will be over in a few minutes to take your order.”
Roger thanked the man and took a hearty swig of his drink before ambling over to a small table for two in the corner.
*
“Was everything alright for you, sir?”
The landlord smiled at Roger as he cleared away the empty plate.
“Lovely, thanks. I can’t remember the last time I had a steak pie as nice as that.”
The landlord’s smile dropped slightly, unsure if
