Authors: Matthew Crow
“So,” said Caleb, as we made our way towards the front of the house. “You think you’d be up for it?”
“Depends what my hours would be,” I said. “Want to keep a certain standard at my new job, this’d be more of a hobby, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Don’t mind one bit son, anything I value your honesty.” He took my coffee cup and placed it on the step of the porch along with his. “Harlow says you don’t get out
much... on an evening... weekends.”
“I try to keep myself to myself.”
“It’s no bad thing. How about you start coming over on a Saturday morning. Maybe some evenings. So long as there’s no service you can keep your own hours. We’re deaf to
the noise by now – forty years in any industry you stop noticing the evidence.”
“That’d be fine.”
“You can operate the saw?”
“Yes sir, was trained in... well, let’s just say I had experience.”
“Good. So you come by a Saturday morning, and any evenings you can make it. And we’ll go from there. I’ll give you the plans, the dimensions and such, the material will be
sitting waiting, and we’ll see how you get on.”
“And payment?”
“Oh yeah, that too!” he laughed. “We like to look after our boys, you won’t be disappointed. We’ll start on a work to order scheme and see how we get on.”
“Then it’s agreed.”
“So let’s shake on it.”
He held out his hand and we sealed our gentleman’s agreement, Caleb enthusiastically, me slightly less so - suddenly confronted with the tiredness which had until that point been hiding
itself in the camouflage of excitement.
“So long as you can stand Richard’s jabbering I don’t see why this won’t be a fine time for all involved.”
“’Cept the customers.”
“’Cept the customers,” Caleb laughed. “I like that... I like that a lot.”
Mrs Pemberton twitched her curtains and shook her head at me as I mounted my own lawn, eager for a second shower and a light nap. I waved instinctively and she turned the
blinds as far as possible, so that whilst she became invisible to me, I could still be viewed from an angle. Her slant was not out of character so I let it fade from my mind as I opened the lock
and stepped inside.
Some things you can tell on instinct, Verity. From a doctor’s stance a loved one’s fate can be determined, no need to see his face - he has been trained in this kindly deceit - but
the way he holds himself will give away everything you’ll ever need to know. A clear sky in winter means nine times out of ten you’ll be scraping the car with red, furious hands early
next morning. And as cows take to their slumber it is fair to assume that a storm is brewing, silent and huge.
That I was not alone in my house became a similar instinct; as certain and vital to me all of a sudden as sight or sound. Perhaps one or two minor pieces of physical evidence penetrated my
thoughts without me having realised it – the shunt of the back window, bent so suddenly that the hinges had re-set, or the laundry pile on my kitchen floor now a fair few steps from where it
had been left. Yet whilst these were invariably true they were not what made me so certain of an intrusion. I just had a feeling that I don’t ever want to know again; a cross between fear and
violation with a distant back taste of guilt and the oddest, most pressing adrenaline I have ever known.
My skin became alive as though each of my senses was being filtered through its porous stretch; volatile and receptive to every rush of air that blew across me like sand across a desert. I moved
carefully, low and slowly, like it was I who was breaking and entering. I heard a creak of wood, and a scuff. I pushed open the living room door and no-one seemed to be inside. I walked down the
small corridor towards the kitchen. The bedroom appeared empty. Suddenly I felt the need to leave. My thoughts became unusually overlapping, clouded and unfamiliar like I was slipping away from
myself, and all I could focus on was escape. The kitchen had been undisturbed save the window that still hung ominously opened towards my yard. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter and opened
the back door as wide as I could.
The garden was peaceful. In the distance a sprinkler system hissed and a gaggle of girls whooped and splashed their way through its stream. No footprints were evident in the grass, though given
it was as hard and dry as elephant hide it would have bounced a meteorite back to the heavens without so much as a dent. Around the open window a black fur had caught and suddenly I felt my whole
body drop back into itself. It must, I decided, have been an animal. Raccoons were a problem in the neighbourhood, had been ever since I moved in. Surprisingly dextrous too, so I was told. In fact
when each minor household transgression remained unsolved - a broken vase, dirty smudges in the hallway, a fresh pastry nibbled at the corner - they seemed to be the go-to guy for families hoping
to put these small scale traumas behind them with limited fuss.
I laughed at myself, at my stupidity and vulnerability, at the sight of a grown man clutching a butter knife (only the handle had registered when I selected my weapon) for protection. I walked
back inside and locked the door.
“Well I’ll be,” came the voice from behind me. “It is you.”
I froze on the spot.
“Aren’t you at least going to say hi?”
I turned slowly, hoping to God that he would have disappeared by the time I reached the source of his sound like a nightmare blinked from memory. This was not the case.
His face was less grotesque than when I had last seen him over a decade ago and when both of us were little more than children. The way I remembered him was weeping and oozing into a
stranger’s carpet, his skin hanging loose; blood pouring from his eyes like a holy statue. Michael had grown into his wounds, mercifully, though still they dominated his features and became
all you could focus on. Now a man, the freckles of scars still dotted his cheek from where shards of glass and lead had showered his face. A small bald patch to the side of his head was an ugly
silvery white. Most awful of all though was his eye – stretched and pinched to the side, it roved from within an angry slit that cut a deep ridge all the way behind his hear. He looked like
he was fading, like a cartoon being erased by its frustrated artists. Had it not been for vanity and pride on my part I would have wept on the spot at the sight of him; wept at his image, at his
unwelcome return, at the fact that only bad things could conclude from his appearance, and partly at my guilt over the destroyed face of a boy I had once cared for. I’ve never hated anyone
the way I hated him at that moment.
“Well this is a nice house Jonah. A nice house,” he said, sitting on my sofa. They had followed me into the living room where I sat, slumped and frightened in the armchair whilst
they remained standing. “You must have stockpiled a secret stash without letting us boys know about it,” he chuckled. His companion remained silent.
“Sit down,” I heard myself say.
“
Thank you kind sir,
” Michael said with a jocular bow. The sleeve of his jacket had been ripped, his white shirt visible like muscle tissue in a black and white war movie.
“Hope you don’t mind the, shall we say...
elaborate intrusion
. You remember I always did have a penchant for the limelight.”
I nodded.
“So, Jonah. How’s life?”
“You’ve been following me.”
“Say, is this house rented? I could get me a nice little house like this,” he said, standing back up. He took the axe head from the table and began picking nicks of skin from his
hand with the dullest of the two edges. “Nice little house in a nice little town. Maybe a nice little wife to go in it. I always did say I wanted a wife, isn’t that right Jonah?”
He turned to me. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? This is my associate Ed. Say hello, Edward.”
The man, still seated, nodded towards me. He held none of Michael’s maniacal energy. He was solid and slick; his hair greased back and his manner immaculate, like a praying mantis. The
only indication of any wrongdoings was the tail end of a self-administered tattoo edging from the cuff of his sleeve.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, my voice a staccato inflection over which I had no control.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Jonah? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I near enough have. How are you Michael?”
“Me? Well I’m just swell, friend. I’m just swell. Out on the open road you’ll be pleased to hear. And the price of a cup of coffee! I tell you, it’s enough to make
you wonder who’s the crook out there. Lot changes in ten years Jonah,” he placed the axe head on the hearth and sat back down. “I hope my face doesn’t upset you,” he
said with a wry, rictus smile. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Now, now, don’t you be getting upset. Let bygones be bygones. That’s my motto. Go on, take a good look. I see
your eyes darting back and forth, not knowing where to look. It’s pretty aint it? Truth be told I forget all about it until I catch sight of myself in other people’s reactions. Poor
lady at the diner nearly fell to the floor when I asked for my pie.”
I forced myself to look him in the eyes.
“There? That better? Now that the elephant’s out of the room and I’ve forgiven you so admirably, how about you bring us some refreshments? Ed takes tap water, likes to keep a
clear head you understand. Mine’s a beer. I’m legal now too, have been for some time. Boy do things change in ten years - ” he said leaning back in his seat as I stood up, dazed
and somnambulant like the living dead, “ - boy do things change.”
“So this gentleman moves into my room,” Michael continues, sipping from my beer as Ed sits silently, his water untouched. “And transpires he has a cell phone. I daren’t
ask how he got it in, let’s just say the mouthpiece remains as far from his lips as can be, if you follow... ” Michael guffaws and slaps Ed on the arm. “Anyway, I had enough of
talking in that place, so I took to listening. Boy is it magic what happens when you start to listen. Ed has this down to a fine art. As did you, if my memory serves me correctly.”
“How did you get out so soon?”
“Same as you, only I took the fast track. The platinum scheme. You start collecting, phone conversations, whispers, rumours. I found myself relaying these minor details to those with keys,
and before you know it I was a free man. Honesty’s a costly luxury Jonah. Given the choice between happiness and pride I’ll take happiness any day of the week. How about you, buddy,
how’s life been for you so far?”
“I suppose... things are...
what the hell are you doing here Michael
?” I asked eventually, seeing no reason to acknowledge the charade of conversation when I wanted only one
thing: his total disappearance from my life.
“Well well well, you have the house but not the hospitality my friend. Say, aint that a country song?” Michael threw back his head and laughed. “I was in the neighbourhood.
Heard from someone who knew someone who knew someone that you were knocking about this neck of the woods and thought who’d be happier to see me than my old pal Jonah. Hell, we been making
sure it was you for weeks now. See, there are a few practical issues with us being here.
Terms and conditions applied to my swift exit
. Didn’t want to risk accosting the wrong man and
finding our liberties revoked once more. It was made clear that a repeat visit would not go quite as smoothly by the some of the boys the day I moved out, you understand.”
“Now you’ve seen me you can be on your way.”
Michael stood up and began pacing the living room, arriving back at the hearth; the axe head back in his hands. “Well Jonah I won’t lie, I’m disappointed. Here I’ve told
Ed about my great friend Jonah, the kindest most gentle raconteur you ever will meet. I tell him what this man can’t do with words is nobody’s business, that you’re clever, that
you’re kind. And Ed over here he insists on a road trip to meet this very legend. Only now he must be crestfallen. You sad Ed, sad at Jonah’s unremarkable reception?”
Ed didn’t respond.
“I don’t want trouble,” I said eventually, dragging each word to the fore with all my might. “I got a quiet life out here.”
“Deadly silent,” said Michael, opening and shutting a small box I had crafted on the mantelpiece.
“I just want to be left alone. Not too much to ask. It’s good seeing you Michael, really it is, and I can’t say I’m not relieved that you’re doing okay. But you and
I were different people back then, people that don’t bear repeating. I think it’s for the best that this is the end, don’t you?”
There was a moment’s silence.
“No,” he said eventually. “I think we’re going to stick around for now. Now, now, hey, don’t be looking so worried. We won’t cause no harm. Your secrets are
safe with us, my friend. This is a nice setup you got yourself Jonah,” he said, staring out of the window. “Type of life I wouldn’t mind taking for my own. How about you go about
giving us some pointers, meet us for a few drinks, then that’ll be it. Like we were never here. Seems a shame to have come all this way for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just a few hours of your time. How about Wednesday night? Beers. And before you start arguing it’s our dime, that’s a given. Yes siree, all we ask is your company.”
“Fine,” I said, standing, desperate only for them to leave. “Whatever you want. Just say where and when,” I walked to the door and Ed stood up.
“Then it’s a date!” said Michael turning swiftly. “Wow Jonah, it’s sure good to see you. Sure is good, thought once we were pulled our separate ways that was the
end of that chapter. It’s nothing short of a miracle if I do say so myself.” He walked to the door that I held open and Ed followed. “Wednesday night, we’ll be in touch as
to where and when. Until then we got us some business to attend to.”
“I’ll see you around, Michael.”
“That you will my friend,” he said as he walked out of the front door, followed by Ed’s bulking weight. “That you will.”
“Thanks for coming this weekend,” said Harlow, the next day. I had removed myself from the lunchtime rabble and sat alone with a crust of bread in a dirt hollow just a short stroll
from the action of the building sight.