Chapter one

[nenez]

KNIT ONE PEARL ONE SKIP ONE

 

1

 

Shades of grey. One of those nights when the sky shimmered with menace of rain still yet to come and the air was swollen with the moisture of rain already past. The streets were wet and shiny in the gloom, the sound of footsteps a sharp, wet smack on the pavement. The woman walked down the street, small drops of water bursting up from the remains of the puddles gleaming about her feet. Her coat was long and clipped the tops of her spiked black ankle boots. Her dress swishing out on each step was a contrast in texture, a silver silk slash with each step from the dark woollen folds of her long black coat. Light from the street lamps illuminated her progress as she stepped from shrouds of darkness into wavering pools of light. The gleam of the pavements reflected her steady progress. Despite her regular stride she seemed to be struggling to move forward, the street seemed longer in the thickening night and her gradual journey to the end of it seemed slow, taking longer than it should have. Perhaps it was the ridiculous spike of her boots or the weight of the coat. She appeared to be dealing with an extra weight, her tread was certain but strained. She looked straight ahead neither turning her head, nor lowering her gaze. As they passed she looked right through him. He turned to watch her progress. She continued with the same steady, laden tread to the end of the street. She turned the corner, disappearing from his sight and never looked back.

 

Duffy was to remember that night for good reason. It was when he got home that he found the flat in disarray and the stereo and TV missing from their usual places. Every cupboard had been gone through and items thrown willy-nilly onto the floor and every available surface. He saw the saucepans stacked in their usual three sitting incongruously by the cat's bowl, cat food scattered from the bowl where it had been knocked. Silverware was scattered over the work surface, with coffee and sugar mingling stickily around the base of the kettle, which had been tipped over and emptied its contents on the work surface and down to the floor. There remained below a sticky puddle of coffee and sugar seeping into the carpet tiles. It crossed his mind in an irrelevant way that he could move the tiles around and hide that bit. He inhaled deeply and scratched his head. He went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. His favourite red socks were lying forlornly over the edge of the laundry basket, a little oasis of familiarity in a sea of disruption and disorder. As a copper he was familiar enough with the signs of a burglary and the aftermath of clearing and discovery, the intrusion of the police and the distress it caused. He understood the suspicious workings of the insurance companies who hung on to their money until the last minute, verifying the facts and figures. He knew all this and knew also that this hadn't happened to him.

 

Instead a more mundane event in another life, a chilling one in this. It was obvious that Anna had gone, taking most of what belonged to her although not all and some of what they had jointly bought together, small mementoes like the picture of their holiday that they'd framed in a ridiculous purple heart shaped frame just because they were so much in love and things like that made her laugh and when she laughed he'd give her anything.

He turned over the meagre leavings of her clothes. A couple of silk shirts that she only ever wore for work, a heavy skirt that was a little too big since she'd lost weight.

 

One red shoe, the heel scuffed a little. Where was the other he wondered?

He sat on the edge of the bed, no longer their bed, but now just his to steal the bedclothes every night and snore the world awake. To take all the pillows and leave his detritus on the covers while he slept. His head fell and drooped in his hands as already, he missed her creased frown as she picked up after him, complaining that he'd live like a pig if it were up to him. He'd always protested but she'd never lost that ancient female faith in the inability of a man, any man, to fend for himself in any reasonable way without a woman. How had he managed before her? He couldn't remember now but he had managed in a scattered way, a bit here, a bit there, of domestic endeavour. A minimum of possessions to litter and to dust, the easiest food, the microwave, the freezer, the takeaway. In his way he'd been an occasional star, with elaborate meals prepared and served, the flat spotless, fresh flowers in a vase, but only when she was coming to dinner. When she moved in the reality must have hit her hard, the dirty socks scattered where they fell and the minutiae of his erratic life, the life of a copper, a citizen of citizens as they were so tritely called by the popular press. The five-minute warning, the long hours, and the dread of what he might bring home. Violence and the destruction of lives so fragile that the slightest disruption seemed to pull the fabric apart leaving people with the remains of their existence tattered beyond repair. The invasion of lust and violence into lives so small there was room for nothing else once it had passed them by.

 

He stood and sighed. The world had changed so fast since he was a boy; he remembered Summers so hot and so long, with green grass and blackberrying in the Autumn with his mother and his sisters. The sweet smell of rosehips as they split against a tree when shot from a homemade catapult. The distant cries of friends, shorts over dirty knees, grubby faces and hands. A bath once a week whether you needed it or not. He remembered his toys, the tin, the wood, the space age rockets and robots. Cowboys and Indians with guns that shot real caps.

 

He recalled one Christmas when he stood with red nose and frozen feet outside Hamleys window for days on end wanting everything they had inside, a bright display of toys that most of the kids he knew would never have. There wasn't enough money and they all knew better than to ask. But still they came and kept the Christmas vigil outside the shop, mucky hands and faces smearing the glass until some shop assistant in lipstick and high heels would crossly try to shoo them away. They never left the first time or the second but would wait for the manager red faced and angry to run out. Then it was time to run screaming down the street, laughing and shouting and kicking the litter in the street.

He'd hoped they would have children, him and Anna, but they'd waited and then all the fuss has started and no one felt like having children anymore. If you saw a pregnant woman in the street she'd not look proud like some full bellied galleon but shamed like a whore.

No world to bring a child into even if you could afford it, even if you really wanted to, even if she'd wanted to, even if she'd stayed.

 

2

 

Later.

Duffy: Hi Lucy, how are you?

Lucy: Hi Dave, how are you. I'm fine. Andy's fine. How is Anna, I haven't seen her for a while?

Duffy: Well that's really why I'm calling. She left last week and I haven't heard from her. She hasn't gone to her mothers and I really am beginning to get worried.

Lucy: Left? Why would she leave? ( Andy, Anna's left Dave, of all the people.)

Did you have a row? She'll be back; you know how impetuous she is.

Duffy: She's taken all her things. I guess I just wanted to find out that she's Ok.

Lucy: are you OK? Why don't you come over, we can have a bottle of wine and a takeaway.

Duffy: Maybe another time Lucy, I'm not great company right now. Well thanks anyway. Take care, you guys.

Lucy; And you Dave, I'll call you if I hear anything. Take care………………..

 

 

Duffy: Jerry, it's me Dave.

Jerry; mate, how is going?

Duffy; yeah well not so great, Anna's gone missing. I'm just phoning round seeing if anyone's heard of her recently like in the last week or so. She seems to have gone without a trace. I know she always had a soft spot for you and I thought she might have, well you know.

Jerry; No such luck mate. But seriously, when did she go? You sure she's gone missing, not just gone to her mums for a sulk.

Duffy; I've checked there and anyway she's not like that. She stays and faces it does Anna. Look I've got to go, calls to make.

Jerry; Good luck with it. Call us for a beer sometime. Yeah?

Duffy; yeah, see you then…………………………………………………………..

 

 

Every number in the book. Sounding sad and desperate, hearing them thinking what they all must be thinking that she's come to her senses at last , she's done better for herself like we all said she could, not wasting her time on a copper, a bit of a dead end bloke that Dave , nice bloke but you know what I mean dead end.

 

Dead end.

 

Duffy looked round the flat and noticed that it didn't seem just empty any more even after he'd tidied up, replaced the TV, moved the stuff around to make it different. It was stale and grey and he hated it. He wanted to be gone but he knew he could never move because she might come back and he had to be there just in case. She wouldn't look if he was gone. She'd frown and shrug her shoulders and turn and walk away. She could let go of things like that, put away her disappointment, look forward. He always looked back to safer happier things where you could edit out the bad parts and see your own happy childish face with freckles on the nose and forget the cold and the spanking sound of bare feet on lino. You just remembered the blackberries and your mother's strong brown hands, darning your socks, looking up and smiling. You didn't remember her saying she wasn't hungry as you and your sisters and your dad ate dinner. You never knew she went without for you, or that her clothes came from the jumble sale so you could have good shoes.

 

Their sacrifice hurt you more and more but made them strong. So strong they ate you up with big red mouths like in that story he had read as a child and it had given him dreams. Now Anna had eaten him up and he was in stasis until she came back so he could come to life again.

 

He cried at night.

[Ash]

Hey, good stuff. I'll keep an eye out for the next installment.