Текст книги "The Black Pathway"
Автор книги: Mark C. Sutton
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Whatever it was… and I’m telling you now, Howard, that thing wasn’t human… it gripped me from behind, wrapped it’s arms and legs… those thin, leathery arms and legs, right around my body, so that I couldn't move. I tried to call out, to someone, anyone, for help, but it felt like the creature was crushing my chest, and I could barely breath, let alone speak. I could feel the creature’s hot, stinking breath on the back of my neck. Then the creature ran its tongue across my shoulder; it felt rough, like sandpaper… just like how a cat’s tongue feels, except much larger. It was one of the most disgusting sensations I’ve ever experienced. I tried to scream, but no sound would come out. That’s when it happened. That’s when the creature… invaded me, impregnated me, but it didn’t happen in the, you know, ‘conventional sense’, Howard. This was on a completely different level altogether, and it’s still really difficult to explain… but I’ll try.
I suddenly felt cold, well, not just cold, but freezing. It was as if I had been submerged into a sea of ice. I could feel every single one of my nerve endings begin to burn with that terrible, icy cold. The creature… it was still behind me. It tightened its grip around my body, and then… it was as if its skin, that horrid, lumpy, leathered skin, was beginning to freeze, mesh, with mine, because of the intense cold. I wasn't capable of doing anything other than just lie there, on that hillside, completely trapped, with some fucking creature welded to my back. There was no… penetration. Oh, you know what I mean, Howard, you’re old enough to understand about these things… the creature didn't bury his dick in me, nothing like that happened. All I can remember is a sudden, sharp jolt, not down there, between my legs, you understand, but much further up, deep inside my womb. As I said though, the creature didn’t, you know, put anything up me. I might have been numb with the icy cold, but I wasn't that bloody numb. Then, after that jolt inside, which was almost like an electrical shock, I felt the creatures arms and legs loosen from around me, and it was as if I was then pulled from out of that sea of ice… my whole body warmed up, just a little, almost instantly. I rolled onto my back, gasping for air. Once I’d filled my lungs, I looked around, behind me, to see what had happened to the creature, and that’s when I saw it, properly, for the first time.
It’s hard to describe that thing, the creature that attacked me up on Wildbridge Hill, but I’ll do my best. When I turned and looked at it, the creature was already backing away from me. It was humanoid, but not bipedal, as far as I could tell; the creature moved from where it had left me using all four of its limbs. That seemed to be the creature’s natural method of motion, and it was fast, Howard, really fast. It’s face… well, all that I could really make out in the darkness was the creature’s eyes. They were yellow, and when I say yellow, I don’t mean in a dazzling sort of way…. they didn't glow, or anything like that. No, the creatures eyes were just yellow, a drab, dull, shade of yellow, circled around a dark iris and pupil. I can still remember how those eyes gazed into mine as the creature backed away on all fours, slowly disappearing into the darkness. I can remember the sound that it made, too, its body rustling through the long grass; it was a little like the noise you hear when a strong wind blows through the branches and leaves of a tree. The creature… it vanished into a large patch of undergrowth nearby, and I could hear twigs and plants snapping under its weight as it moved along. Then there was just silence. I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t. I was still freezing cold. A ferociously sharp pain shot through my body, a pain so bad that it completely knocked me out, right there and then. The next thing I recall, Howard, is waking up, in an ambulance, with a paramedic, a woman, holding my hand…
Kate Williams woke up. She felt Howard Trenton’s hand on her, still clutched around her breast. She smiled. Kate became aware of a soft, rhythmic motion from behind her. She rolled onto her back, catching Howard unaware. Kate grinned.
“Are you messing around with yourself, Howard?” She asked. Howard could hardly deny it; he’d got his stiff cock in the palm of his hand. He blushed.
“I was thinking about what we did earlier.” He lied. Howard had been thinking about one of his earliest murders.
“Were you now?” Whispered Kate. She pulled up close to Howard, and Kate stroked her fingertips firstly across his chest, and then worked them slowly downwards. Kate gently prised Howard’s hand away from his dick, and then wrapped her own fingers around its length. “Would you like to do it again, Howard?” Kate wanted to know. She felt Howard’s cock throb.
“Yes, Miss Williams. I’d like that very much.” Replied Howard. Kate let go of Howard, and pushed herself up on the bed. She turned herself around, until she was on all fours, and then she raised her backside into the air, exposing her private parts to Howard.
“Come on then, Howard.” She said, eager to be fucked again. Howard got up, onto his knees, and moved across the bed, until he was backed up against Kate. He rubbed the end of his stiff cock up and down the length of Kate’s vagina a few times, and then he entered her. Kate let out a groan as she felt Howard sink into her. If only the rest of the college students could see us now, thought Kate, as Howard began to thrust his cock backwards and forwards inside her pussy…
Chapter Twelve
Howard Trenton stopped walking. In front of him, just outside Alfie Whitehouse’s home, were two police cars, together with an ambulance. A number of local residents were gathered outside, including Lucas and Kay. Howard swallowed hard, and his heartbeat picked up pace. He took a deep breath, then continued to walk up the road that he lived in, moving towards where his cousin was standing. Lucas noticed Howard, and broke from the small crowd.
“What’s going on, Lucas?” Asked Howard, feigning ignorance.
“It’s not good news, Howard.” Replied his cousin.
“Why, what’s happened?”
“It’s Alfie. His sister came around to see him today, because he hasn’t answered his phone for three or four days. She couldn’t get any response after knocking on his door, so she called the police in a panic. They had to break down the door to get in.” Lucas informed him.
“And?” Asked Howard.
“The police found Alfie upstairs, in bed. He’s dead, Howard. From what one of the paramedics have just told me, it looks like he died in his sleep…probably a heart attack.” Said Lucas. Howard put his hand to his mouth, play-acting.
“Oh no, that’s awful news. Poor Mister Whitehouse.” He responded.
“I know. Do you want to know something, Howard?” Asked Lucas.
“No, what?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if Alfie didn’t die from a broken heart, you know, because of Buttons going missing. He couldn't get over that cat disappearing. Every time that I spoke to Alfie about it, I could see that it was destroying him.” Confided Lucas. Howard smiled.
“They were best friends, weren't they?” He said.
“Yeah, they were that alright.” Agreed Lucas. Howard looked up, towards Alfie Whitehouse’s bedroom window, and grinned. Suddenly, for just a split-second, a figure appeared in the window, before disappearing again. This unsettled Howard, and the grin was wiped off his face in an instant.
Detective Tom Grogan moved away from Alfie Whitehouse’s bedroom window.
“Is everything okay, boss?” Asked Police Constable Neil Spears.
“Yeah… it was just some kid… anyway, I’ve finished up here, for now.” Said Tom.
“What do you think?” Asked Neil.
“You were right to call me out. Something’s definitely not right here. Do me a favour, Neil, radio through to the station, have them send some scene of crime boys over. I want some technicians down here as soon as possible.” Requested Tom.
“Yes sir, straight away.” Nodded Neil Spears.
“In the meantime, I’m going back downstairs. I want to check out that bathroom again.” Said Tom. He glanced over, towards the dead body of Alfie Whitehouse, before leaving the bedroom.
Tom Grogan bumped into one of his colleagues in the downstairs hallway.
“When was the last time that Mister Whitehouse was seen by the neighbours again?” He asked the young lady.
“The weekend, sir. At the very least, Mister Whitehouse was alive on Sunday afternoon, because he spoke to his sister on the telephone, according to her.” Replied the Police Constable. Tom stroked thoughtfully at his long, floppy moustache for a moment.
“Is Mrs Dunning still in the lounge?” Tom wanted to know.
“Yes sir.” Came the reply. Tom nodded.
“Go and keep her company… make her a brew. I’ll be wanting to chat with Mrs Dunning in a few minutes.” Said Tom.
“Yes sir.” Replied the Police Constable. Tom carried on through the hallway, into the kitchen. Beyond that, lay Alfie Whitehouse’s bathroom, which was of particular interest to Tom Grogan. He entered the small room, peering over the side of the bathtub, and there they were; a set of muddy footprints.
“Trainers. Those footprints came from a pair of trainers… soft hi-tops, yes, definitely soft hi-tops.” Said Tom Grogan, thinking out loud. “Not the sort of footwear that’d be worn by a seventy six year old man.” He added. No, those prints have come from footwear favoured by a youth. Someone maybe in their late teens, or early twenties… a bit like that weird-looking kid that was staring up and grinning at Alfie Whitehouse’s bedroom window a few minutes ago, thought Tom.
Tom Grogan knelt down, and inspected the footprints more closely.
There’s sand amongst that dried-up mud, he observed, quite a bit of it, too. Whoever found themselves with a reason to stand in Mr Whitehouse’s bath had visited the beach recently, Considered Tom. He walked out of the bathroom, back into the kitchen. Tom got down on his knees again.
“Well, what do you know. More footprints. Much harder to see, on this dark floor, but they’re here alright.” Tom rubbed the end of his finger over the top of one of the prints, dislodging just a tiny piece of dried-up dirt, that stuck to his fingertip. He brought the finger up close to his face. “Yep, whoever left these prints was the same person who stood in Alfie Whitehouse’s bath. Here’s that sand again.” Said Tom, inspecting the small, glass-like grains. I think there was an intruder in here… but why the fuck would they be standing in Alfie’s bath? Puzzled Tom. He stood up, and strolled back into the bathroom. Well, there’s a window above the bath… but it certainly couldn’t be an entry or exit point. You can only open the top part of it, and it’s way too small for anybody to climb in or out of. “Perhaps the intruder was disturbed by Mr Whitehouse… and so came in here to hide?” Said Tom to himself. Yes, but there’s nothing to hide behind… no shower, so no shower curtain. Why just stand there, upright, in the bath? It doesn't make any sense…
A few minutes later, Tom Grogan sat in the lounge of Alfie Whitehouse’s home, together with the late man’s extremely distressed sister.
“Does… did Alfie have any young relatives, Mrs Dunning? Young relatives that would come to visit him?” Tom was curious to know. Alfie’s sister shook her head.
No, definitely not.” She replied.
“What about friends? Did Alfie have any friends that might have a reason to be in his home? Say, someone in their teens, or early twenties?” Asked Tom.
“Good heavens, no. Alfie tended to keep himself to himself. If he was close with anyone of that age, I would definitely have known about it.” Answered Mrs Dunning. “Why are you asking me these questions, Mr Grogan?” She asked.
“I’ll be brutally honest with you, Mrs Dunning. I believe that somebody else might have been in this house at the time your brother died.” Tom confided. A look of shock fell across Mrs Dunning’s face.
“What? I don’t understand… the paramedic, she told me that it looked like Alfie had just had a heart attack in his sleep.” She replied, confused.
“Yes, it does look that way. On the surface. However, my colleagues called me out here because of several peculiarities that they noticed around your brother’s home.” Said Tom.
“I don’t understand… what do you mean by peculiarities?” Asked Mrs Dunning.
“Well, your brother appears to have some bruising, across the chest. Now, that could just be as a result of post-mortem changes to the body… it happens, sometimes, but until we carry out an autopsy…”
“An autopsy? You’re going to have to carry out an autopsy?” Said Mrs Dunning, visibly upset. Tom Grogan nodded.
“I’m afraid so.” He answered, softly.
Tom Grogan leaned forward a little in the armchair that he was seated on.
“We’ve also found footprints, Mrs Dunning. Footprints made from a mixture of mud and sand. They’re in, of all places, your brother’s bath-tub.” Advised Tom.
“Footprints? But surely, they would have just belonged to Alfie?” Mrs Dunning queried.
“No, I don’t think so. The footprints appear to have come from a pair of soft trainers, the sort of footwear that a young man or woman might use.” Said Tom.
“Oh, come on, you don’t know that.” Dismissed Mrs Dunning.
“Well, I’ve got a lot of experience in this sort of area, madam, and I can tell you now… and with a good deal of certainty… those prints do not come from a pair of shoes. Certainly not the sort of shoes that your brother would wear.” Pointed out Detective Grogan.
“I see.” Mrs Dunning said. “So, do you think that there was an intruder in this house?”
“Well, if there was, then that would solve another little puzzle that one of my colleagues noticed when looking around your brother’s home a bit earlier.” Replied the detective.
“What is that, Detective Grogan?” Mrs Dunning asked, curious.
“A tiny slither of metal. A tiny slither of metal that we found in your brother’s front door lock.” The detective informed her. Carefully, Tom produced a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, before walking across to Mrs Dunning and sitting down next to her on the settee. Tom sat the handkerchief on his open palm, and opened it carefully with his other hand; in the middle of the handkerchief was a small piece of metal. “Do you know what this actually is, Mrs Dunning?” Asked Tom.
“It looks like part of a paper-clip.” The woman responded.
“That’s exactly right. I think this was used in order to open the front door of this house, and the little piece here, on my handkerchief, broke off in the lock. I’m guessing that this happened at night, in the dark, and the intruder didn’t notice.” Suggested the detective. “If I’m being perfectly honest with you, Mrs Dunning, I think that your brother might, MIGHT, have been murdered.”
***
Howard Trenton looked out from his bedroom window, across to Alfie Whitehouse’s home, puzzled. What the hell is going on over there? What’s with the two vans that pulled up a few minutes back, and those men inside them, all kitted-out in fucking protective clothing? Why haven’t they taken that old fart’s body out yet? What the fuck is going on? Howard’s curiosity, and anxiety, got the better of him. He left the bedroom, went downstairs, and then out of the front door. Howard walked over to Lucas and Kay, who were still hanging around outside, together with another dozen or so onlookers.
“Do you know what’s going on in there, Lucas?” Asked Howard, trying not to appear too agitated.
“Well, some guys pulled up a few…”
“Yeah, in the vans. I saw that from the bedroom window. Who are they?” Interrupted Howard, eager for answers.
“I’m not sure, but I think that a couple of them may have been from forensics… or something like that.” Kay informed him.
“Forensics? What the fuck would forensic examiners be doing in there? I thought that the old… I thought that Mister Whitehouse had died from a heart attack?” Queried Howard, growing increasingly anxious and paranoid.
“I don’t know, Howard. Maybe it’s just standard procedure…”
“No, Lucas, it is not just standard fucking procedure.” Snapped Howard Trenton. “You don’t send lab guys, or whatever the fuck they are, into a house where a simple, natural death has occurred.”
Howard’s cousin wore a look of surprise on his face.
“Hey, calm down a bit, Howard.” Lucas responded. “I’m sure that we’ll find out what’s going on soon enough.”
“I’m sorry, Lucas.” Howard apologised. “It’s just that… I don’t like this sort of thing… the thought of something bad happening to Mr Whitehouse.” He tried to explain.
“What do you mean, Howard?” Asked Kay.
“Well, you know… if there’s forensic people in his house at the moment, then that tells me that Mister Whitehouse might not have died… from natural causes. Which possibly implies something else… something a lot more sinister. And I don’t like thinking about that, Kay… a poor old man being subjected to… well, who knows?” Bluffed Howard.
“We don’t know that, Howard. There’s no point working yourself up over something that might not have happened.” Lucas responded.
“Yeah, well… I can’t help it, Lucas. You know how sensitive I can be sometimes.” Pointed out Howard. I need to know what the fuck is happening inside that house, he thought, at the same time. It was as this thought went through his head, that Howard Trenton happened to glance down the road, and notice two figures approaching, a young man and woman, holding hands. Howard suddenly felt as if his whole gut had been turned upside down, and then violently squeezed, as he recognised the couple; it was Mary. With Alex Crennell.
Mary and Alex walked up to the crowd gathered outside Alfie Whitehouse’s home. Howard stared at the pair, completely gob-smacked, his heart and head pounding with jealousy.
“Hi Howard.” Smiled Mary. “Erm… this is my new boyfriend, Alex…”
“Alex Crennell.” Howard finished Mary’s sentence for her. “Yes, I know who it is.” He said, frostily.
“How’s it going, Howie?” Grinned Alex. Howard didn't reply.
“What the fuck’s going on here?” Mary asked, referring to the crowd of people gathered on the pavement.
“Oh, it’s old Mister Whitehouse. He’s dead. Heart attack, or something.” Replied Howard. Lucas and Kay walked over.
“Hey, who’s this?” Kay asked her sister, referring to Alex.
“This is my new boyfriend, Alex.” Beamed Mary. “Alex, this is my sister, Kay, and her husband, Lucas.” She continued.
“I already know Alex.” Said Lucas, who nodded at his sister-in-law’s new beau, before giving him a frosty look. Alex nodded back at him.
“Hi Alex!” Kay said, excitedly. She turned to her sister. “Wow, you kept this quiet, sis!”
“We only met at the weekend.” Explained Mary.
“Ah, but that explains why you’ve been out every single night this week.” Kay responded.
“When did you two meet again?” Butted-in Howard.
“At the weekend, Howard. On Sunday. After our little trip to Hingley.” Mary informed him. Howard felt like a knife had been pushed into him, and then twisted around several times.
“Oh.” Said Howard. He gave Alex and Mary a quick, poisonous glance, and then slowly walked away, heading further up the road. His heart was racing, and Howard's stomach was completely knotted-up with jealousy. He found a small garden wall to sit on. What the fuck is Mary doing with that clown? I can’t believe this. Of all the people in Coldsleet that she could have ended up with… it just had to be that stupid fucking moron, thought Howard, not noticing the tall, moustached man with a slightly pock-marked face quietly approaching him.
The man with the moustache sat down next to Howard on the wall, startling the teenager.
“How’s it going, kid?” Asked the man. Howard stared at him, perplexed.
“Who are you?” He wanted to know, eyeing the man with suspicion.
“I’m Tom Grogan. Detective Tom Grogan.” Replied the man. “I’ve been inside Mister Whitehouse’s house for the past two hours… there’s a lot of activity going on… people examining things, gathering evidence… it does my head in, to be honest… all of those people.” Said Tom. He leaned back slightly. “I mean, I know they’re just doing their jobs… we’re all just doing our jobs, aren’t we?” He asked.
“We are?” Howard replied.
“Well, I didn’t mean you, obviously.” Said Tom Grogan.
“No, of course not.” Howard said, with a nervous smile.
“So, what’s your name, kid?” Detective Grogan wanted to know.
“Erm, it’s, erm, Howard. Howard Trenton.”
“Are you a neighbour of Mister Whitehouse, Howard?” Quizzed Tom.
“Yep. I live over the road, with my cousin and his wife.” Answered Howard, his voice shaking slightly.
“Did you know Mister Whitehouse well, Howard?” Asked the detective.
“Yeah, I suppose so, you know, to say ‘hello’ to, that sort of thing. He was very friendly with my cousin though. They got on well, always chatting.” Said Howard, but the detective didn’t appear to be listening; he was too busy staring down at Howard’s feet.
Detective Tom Grogan looked up at Howard.
“Those are nice hi-tops that you’re wearing, Howard. My son’s got a pair like that, except they’re black, rather than blue.” Said Tom. “I didn't know that you could get them in that colour.” He went on. Howard stared down at his footwear.
“The blue colour is hard to come by. I had to order them online. They were a limited edition thing.” He explained.
“They’re really nice though. My son would love a pair in that shade. Hey, Howard, how much did they cost you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Forty nine quid. Plus the delivery costs, obviously.” Answered Howard Trenton.
“Obviously.” Smiled the detective. “How long have you had them for?” He wanted to know.
“Oh, not long. A couple of months.” Howard told Tom.
“And what… are they those… now what do they call them… ‘distressed’ hi-tops?” Queried Tom.
“‘Distressed’? Ah, you mean like, when you buy them, they’re already a bit worn-looking, dirty, torn? I’ve got some jeans like that… but these? Erm, no. These ones weren’t ‘distressed’ when I bought them. Why do you ask?”
“I just noticed how well-worn they look. Do you do a lot of walking, Howard?” The detective asked. Alarm bells started to go off inside Howard Trenton’s head. Why does this guy keep asking me about my fucking trainers?
“I do a lot of walking, yes… hey, I’m sorry, but I need to be getting back home. I’ve got coursework to be catching up on for college.” Said Howard.
“That’s okay, Howard. You go home, get on with your studies.” Tom smiled. Howard jumped off the wall.
“Goodbye, Mister Grogan.” Howard nodded. He was just about to walk back across the road, when the detective gently clutched at his arm.
“Before you leave, Howard, I’d like to share a little secret with you… if you don’t mind.” Said Tom.
Howard took a deep breath, trying to control his body, which was shaking. Badly.
“I really have to be off, Mister Grogan.” He said to the policeman, panicked.
“Of course you do, Howard, but this’ll only take a moment. I just want to tell you something strange.” Replied Tom.
“What do you mean, ‘strange’?” Responded Howard. Tom Grogan let out a little laugh.
“We found a set of footprints… in Mister Whitehouse’s bath.” The detective confided. “Now isn’t that just the weirdest thing?”
“Pardon?” Howard said.
“A set of footprints. Just as if someone had been standing up, in the bath-tub. And here’s the strange part, Howard. I recognised the pattern on those prints straight away, because my son… his name’s Bernie, by the way, which is short for Bernard… perhaps you know him? Bernie Grogan?”
“I don’t know anyone called Bernie, sorry.” Snapped Howard, impatiently.
“Oh, okay. It was just a thought… well, my son, Bernie, he’s like you, Howard. He does a lot of walking. He goes into the mountains and the hills a lot… Bernie is a born rambler. Me, I prefer to stay indoors, relax, watch a bit of soccer on the…”
“Mister Grogan, I really need to get home.” Said Howard.
“I know you do, Howard, I know that you do, but just let me finish… Bernie, he goes off rambling a lot, wearing hi-tops, just like yours. And I’m always querying with him if those hi-tops are suitable footwear for trudging over rocks and stuff… I mean, they don’t offer much in the way of ankle protection, do they, Howard?” Asked the detective. Howard rolled his eyes. Please, just shut up about your fucking son’s hi-tops, and just leave me alone, he thought.
Howard wriggled out from the policeman’s grip, and took a step away from Detective Tom Grogan.
“I have to go. I’ve got loads to do.” Said Howard.
“But I haven’t finished yet, Howard. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, my son, Bernie. He wears those hi-tops when he’s out on his walks, and I’m always telling him that he should buy himself a proper pair of hiking boots… but that’s all beside the point. Do you want to know what irritates me about my son, Howard?” Asked Tom.
“I really haven’t the slightest, sir.” Replied Howard, in a high-pitched, agitated voice.
“I’ll tell you what irritates me about Bernie. He’s always traipsing mud and grass into the house. He goes off on some walk, comes home, and never wipes his ruddy feet. My wife, Sheila… she’s forever having a go at Bernie for dirtying the kitchen floor with those bloody hi-tops. I have a go at him, too. It’s annoying, Howard, when someone keeps walking in mud, slowly wrecking the carpet… but now, Howard, I’m glad that he did.”
“You’re glad that he did what?” Asked Howard.
“I’m glad that Bernie left all of those dirty footprints. And do you know why I’m glad that he did, Howard?” Smiled the detective.
“No.” Responded the teenager.
“Because it helped me recognise, straight away, those footprints that were found in Alfie Whitehouse’s bathtub. The pattern that those hi-tops leave… they’re unique, Howard. Unique. As soon as I saw them, I thought to myself, whoever was stood here, they were wearing hi-tops, just like the ones that Bernie wears.” Said Tom. He stood up from the garden wall. “So, that’s what we’re focusing on now, Howard. Those footprints. Footprints that could have come from my own son’s hi-tops. Or yours, come to that. Good night, Howard.” Grinned the detective, before shuffling off back down the road. When Tom Grogan reached Alfie Whitehouse’s front pathway, he glanced back up the road, and smiled at Howard. Then he vanished inside the home of the murdered pensioner.
Chapter Thirteen
Mary Broderick lay on her bed, next to Alex Crennell.
“Howard didn’t look too pleased when he saw us walking up the road together.” Smirked Alex.
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he? I told you that he’s got a huge crush on me, Alex. I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him though.” Mary replied. “He looked really hurt.”
“Ah, he’ll get over it. Anyway, there’s a rumour going around Elman college that he’s been having it away with one of the staff there.” Revealed Alex.
“You’re fucking joking?” Asked Mary. She propped herself up, using her elbow, and looked at Alex with interest. “What member of staff? Do you mean one of the tutors?” Mary desperately wanted to know.
“Nah, it’s the in-house career advisor. Her name is Kate Williams.” Answered Alex.
“You’re pulling my leg?” Mary responded. Alex laughed.
“No, I’m not pulling anyone’s leg. By all accounts, Howard and Kate are really close… too close. They’re always in her room together and stuff, and…”
“What’s she like? Is she young? Old? What’s she like, Alex?” Interrupted Mary.
“Kate? She just looks like a frumpy, overweight, middle-aged mom.” Alex told her.
“What? She’s got kids?” Mary asked.
“No, no, she ain’t got kids, Mary. What I mean is, she looks like one of the mom’s that you get, standing around outside Coldsleet primary school, waiting to pick their kids up. She’s nothing special at all.” Informed Alex. “Kate’s a real plain-Jane.” He added.
Mary wanted to know more about Kate Williams.
“This woman… Kate… does she have her hair styled in a bob?” She asked Alex.
“Yeah, yeah, she does. I think that Kate's a natural blonde, because she’s got this sort of brown-coloured hair, but with fair roots always coming through. Well, I suppose they could be grey roots… but they look blonde.” Alex laughed. “Her hair is a fucking mess… and so are Kate’s teeth.” He added, as an afterthought.
“Let me guess. They’re crooked. And she has spider veins on her nose… and a bit of a double chin.” Said Mary. Alex nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, she does, she does. Hey, how the fuck do you know that?” He asked, puzzled. Mary smiled.
“Because Howard told me all about her… he never revealed her name, but he listed all of her faults to me, and then said that despite those faults, to him she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” Confided Mary. Now it was Alex’s turn to prop himself up on his elbow.
“Really? He told you that?” He asked.
“Yep, a few weeks ago.” Mary Broderick answered.
“Fucking hell, so it looks like the rumours about Howard and Kate are true then.” Alex said.
“Not necessarily. Howard didn’t mention anything about… you know, sleeping with this Kate woman… and if he was, then why would Howard be chasing after me at the same time?” Wondered Mary.
“Because he’s a greedy little bastard, maybe?” Said Alex. He cuddled up to Mary. “And let’s face it, who’d be able to resist you?” Mary playfully pushed Alex away.
“Aw, get lost, you creep.” She grinned, before pulling at Alex, so that he ended up lying on top of her. Meanwhile, downstairs, Howard Trenton was just retrieving his canvas hi-tops from out of the washing machine, before placing them onto a radiator to dry.
***
Howard sat on his bed, speaking to Kate Williams on a mobile phone.
“Please, Kate. I could really do with some company tonight.” He pleaded.
“Howard. I already told you earlier… the other night was a big mistake. It should never have happened.” Replied Kate.
“Why? Why should it never have happened? I thought that you enjoyed it?” Howard wanted to know.
“I did enjoy myself, Howard. You know that I did.” Said Kate.
“Then what’s the fucking problem?” Howard demanded to know.
“It was just a one-off, Howard. A one-off. I don’t want a relationship with you, or anybody else, come to that. We had a bit of fun, but that’s all it was.” Kate stated her position.
“Why don’t you want a relationship with me? What’s wrong with me, for God’s sake?” Shouted Howard.
