‘Keep your hair on,’ I shout. Who’s knocking on the door at this time? It’s just gone 7.00 am.
I put on my dressing gown and scurry down the hallway.
When I open the door, I’m confronted by a large, angry looking man, his surly little eyes pushed deep into his pasty face.
‘Where’s Kenny?’ he growls.
He’s not here at the moment.’
‘Are you sure?’ he says, looking over my shoulder.
‘Yes, I am. Please leave.’ I don’t want him pushing his way in.
‘Tell him Ray called. He’s got forty-eight hours to pay back the two grand I lent him, otherwise he’s in trouble. Here’s my number in case he’s conveniently lost it.’
He hands me a scrap of paper.
I close the door and lean my head against it. I’ll be starting work in an about hour and I need to get my act together. I go into the kitchen and make myself a strong, sweet cup of tea, sit down and swallow a couple of benzos. I hope they calm me.
Kenny warned me about the world he operated in.
‘I have to deal with all sorts in my line of business, love, and some of them are brutes. Hopefully, you’ll never have contact with any of them.’
That was wishful thinking on his part. I wish he was here now.
After finishing the tea, I get dressed and head to the bathroom. I look like death warmed up in the mirror. I wash my face and start to put some lippy on but my hand is so shaky it takes me ages to finish the job.
My walk to the mini market takes the usual ten minutes and, when I arrive, I notice the blue car parked across the road and the driver looking over. He is bald, sports a red beard and has a mean looking face. He was here a couple of days ago and one day last week his car was sitting outside my flat. I wonder if he’s a benefit fraud investigator. I’ve never been happy continuing to claim single parent benefits since Kenny moved in. But he was adamant I should.
‘My income goes up and down depending on trade. Your benefits provide a safety net for you, me and your boy, so it would be foolish to give them up.’
I wonder if the authorities have picked up that he’s using my address for business purposes and added two and two together? I hope I don’t end up in court like that woman up the road who pretended she had a disability.
When I let myself in, Mr Shah has got some unwelcome news.
‘Good morning, Christine. I’m off to the cash and carry. You’ll be in charge for a couple of hours.’ He gives me one of his winning smiles.
‘OK,’ I mumble. I appreciate that he trusts me - not many other employers have - but I really don’t want to be on my own.
He disappears and I open up. There is a steady flow of customers during the first hour, and each time the door opens and that beep sound goes off, I twitch and look anxiously to see who’s entering.
It’s not long before I make a mistake.
‘I gave you a tenner, not a fiver.’ The young, blonde woman gives me daggers.
‘Sorry. I was away with the fairies,’ I mutter.
I need to pull myself together. I mustn’t screw things up.
The next hour is quieter but I’m still on edge and keep glancing out of the window to check if that car is still there. It is.
A short, stocky man with a pocked mark face comes in.
‘Give me a packet of cigarette papers, please. Not seen your Kenny in the pub recently.’
I hope he is not another creditor.
‘He’s away on business.’
‘Tell him the darts team are missing him.’
That’s a relief.
‘Will do.’
He gives me the right money, takes his purchase and leaves.
When Mr Shah returns, I take my break and disappear into the back room. I try to relax in the soft chair but spend most of the time trying to find a nail to bite. But there are no white parts left on my finger ends.
Back behind the till, my boss’s friendly banter provides a welcome distraction from my troubles and the time passes quickly. My shift finishes at midday and, when I step outside, I’m pleased to see the car is gone. But I keep glancing over my shoulder walking home as I don’t want it creeping up on me.
I make a cuppa when I get in and flop on the settee, and pick up the unopened letter lying on the coffee table. It’s addressed to Kenny and is from Total Enforcement and the envelope has a message advising ‘this is not a circular’. I felt sick when I found it on the mat yesterday as I received a similar letter years ago from the same firm of bailiffs when I was struggling and there was a notice of enforcement inside telling me that, if my debts were not paid within seven days, they would come to collect goods to the value of my debt.
Kenny has never told me how much he owes nor to who.
‘It’s best you don’t know, love. The numbers would scare you but it will all be paid off in full when my latest venture comes off. It’s just a matter of smoothing the peaks and troughs.’
I wish I shared his optimism.
I daren’t open the letter but I’m scared that the bailiffs will turn up next week and take the stuff I’ve purchased with my money. It took me years to pay off the three piece suite.
I have a little snooze and, when I come round, my mind is made up. I need to get it done today. The weather is dry and my boy, Scott, is staying with Mum until tomorrow.
I get up and collect the bag from the cupboard. If I get my skates on, I should catch the next number nine bus.
Twenty minutes later I get off beside the promenade by the beach. It is cloudy and there is no breeze. I make myself comfortable on a bench and close my eyes to help prepare myself. When I feel peaceful, I open them and see my shadow sitting nearby on the wall watching me. Enough is enough. I stride over to him.
‘Are you from the benefits police?’
He studies me for a moment before replying.
‘No. I’m a private investigator.’
He’s not as scary close up.
‘Why are you following me?’
‘It’s your partner I’m after. I know he’s lying low and I’ve been hoping you’d meet up with him. My clients want to recover some equipment he borrowed.’
It’s time to stop running away from the truth.
‘Follow me,’ I tell him.
I walk onto the beach and hear his footsteps crunching on the stones behind me as I walk towards the wooden jetty. I climb onto it and head out to the far end. There, I put down the bag, take out the urn, unscrew the top and take a deep breath before scattering the ashes onto the sea.
‘Farewell, my darling,’ I whisper.
‘What happened?’ he asks softly.
I pause before turning around.
‘He was over in Germany picking up a consignment of watches. A policewoman turned up at my door to tell me his van had been involved in an accident and he’d died instantly. He liked swimming and used to dive from this point.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘It knocked for me for six. I didn’t have the money to pay for a coffin and transportation back to England and he had no family being an orphan. I borrowed fifteen hundred pounds from Mum to cover the cost of a basic cremation and the return of his ashes. I didn’t tell her what the money was for.’
He winces.
‘You’re the first person I’ve told about this. I’ve been in denial about his death, kidding myself he was coming back one day. I know he was a bit of a rogue and wheeler dealer but I laughed more in the last two years than I had in the previous ten. I was at my lowest ebb when I met him and he picked me up. I’ll always be indebted to him for that.’
‘I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Don’t rush off. Just give me a couple of more minutes. Then you can drive me home and on the way I’ll show you where his lock up is. The key is in the house.’
‘And then what?’
‘I’ll need to make a few phone calls and get ready to tell my lad that the nice man who used to take him to the football won’t be coming back.’
A low sunbeam emerges from behind a cloud and brightens up the sea as Kenny’s remains slowly float off into the distance.
About the author
Rob lives in Edinburgh started writing short stories during lockdown. To date, he's had a few stories published by Cafe Lit and in various anthologies. He likes to experiment with different genres and styles of writing.
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)
No comments:
Post a Comment