Retard (9 page)

He hadn’t considered the door. If he couldn’t open with a complete and working body, what chance did he have now?

She didn’t put the chair back, he promised himself. She thought I was out of it and didn’t put the chair back.

Creeping ever closer, the metallic tang of blood in his nostrils, Wesley touched the door and squinted up. The handle appeared impossibly high. If he had Sasha’s whip, he’d snare the handle and yank it down, or failing that, use one of Globin’s many spells to simply pop the lock and open the way to freedom.

This was no cartoon or fantastic kingdom. Even the encouraging voices of Yorin and the rest of the Four had ceased. That was good. That was very very good. Their adventures often got him into trouble anyway.

He had to listen to Miss Griffith. She always told him that
he
had the power, not his legendary heroes. Be it a math problem, remembering all his correct pens and pencils or trying to be friends with the other boys, he had the power.

Wesley gazed up at the door handle, something he’d grabbed and pulled every day without thinking.

He blinked the spiralling stars from his eye and grunted, pushing himself up.

11.

Christine paced back and forth along her well-worn path behind the sofa, running one hand against the dirty paint of the wall while she sucked on the cigarette pinched in the other. Evening had set in, the curtains now dark before the small lounge window.

She said he’d be here by now!

Some point that afternoon
had been Sally’s exact words, not that Christine wanted anyone calling at the house. She aimed to conduct her business on the doorstep. It was buying a fucking toy, how prolonged did it need to be?

It had better be the right toy too. A Fabled Four action figure, not some cheap knock off. One thing she’d learned from the party was that kids, even one as numb as Wesley, weren’t stupid when it came to toys. Wesley would spot a fake.

Not that he fucking deserves it anyway.

She’d be happy to grab the meagre toys she’d already bought and throw the whole bunch in the bin. That might teach him.

A heavy knock boomed through the silent house. She’d kept the television off so she’d hear Wesley should he wake up. The last thing she needed would be more screams and fists against the wall at the wrong time.

“About fucking time,” she hissed and walked through to the short hall. She flicked on the exterior light, revealing a large, dark shape behind the frosted glass of the front door. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

She answered to a tall man in a thick blue duffel coat. A deer stalker hat was pulled tight over his head, long black hair streaming out from underneath.

“You the one who wants the toy?” he asked, his voice a grumble. Thick lips sat among a bristled carpet of stubble, and his teeth seemed a little too large for his mouth.

Christine stared up and nodded. “A Fabled Four?” The cold had already started to nip at her through her clothes.

“Whatever. Has an axe and gun and shit.” He snorted. “So you goin’ to let me in or what?”

“Are you joking?” she asked. “I just want to get the toy. We can do that here.”

The man shook his head. His coat smelled of the pub: stale beer and cigarettes, not unpleasant, just familiar. “Look, sweetheart, I just caught the bus down here and walked all the way from the park, and not for my health either. You want the toy or not?”

She nodded.

“You’ll let me have a quick warm then,” he said, stepping inside and marching past her. “So where’s the kiddo? Young fella down the pub says you got a young ‘un that goes nuts on these things.”

Christine swallowed her anger and closed the front door, locking out the chill. Jason. Sally wouldn’t send some creep to the house, but Jason would. Jason didn’t give a shit, the bottle-blond turd.

“My son is upstairs, quite poorly,” she said. “So please, keep your voice down.”

She didn’t think the giant was able.

“Just in here is it?” he opened the door to the relative warmth of the lounge and slipped inside.

The first twinge of fear ticked in her gut.

“Let’s see it,” she said, following him in.

The man gazed upon her living space with disinterest. If this guy was casing her home, he didn’t see anything worth stealing. “You want to see it do you?” He winked.

Great, she thought. Jason? I’m going to kill you.

“The toy.”

“Let’s discuss a price first. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

She placed her hands on her hips, but this was no spastic ten year old boy who could be intimidated. He raised his eyebrows, a small smirk on his sausage lips.

“I’m not buying a fake. I want to see it first.”

“Nothing fake about me, darlin’. One hundred percent genuine in every way.” He smiled and reached the sofa in two long strides. With a groan of satisfaction, he planted himself at the centre, pulling off his hat. “Looks like Hell
has
frozen over. Can hardly feel my feet walking out there. Won’t even be a white Christmas, too cold. Shame that. Kids love snow on Christmas morning. What’s wrong with your boy again?”

Christine huffed, wishing he’d shut up about Wesley. He’d be wanting to go up and see him next. Who the fuck was this guy?

“I told you, he’s ill. Have you got this toy or what?”

“Of course I have it.”

“Let’s see it then!”

The man held up his hands. “Okay okay! No need to get overexcited, love.”

He unfastened a couple of coat buttons and reached inside. She hadn’t quite expected what he pulled out.

Sally had described it wrong, and had even gone as far to say beggars couldn’t be choosers, the stuck up bitch. The toy was meant to be second hand, a little dirty, worn here and there. The guy had pulled out a sealed plastic pack, brand new, unopened. He turned it around to show her. There stood the action figure, his armour still shiny, features still sharp. His axe and gun were packed beside him, held straight with tape in their respective compartments.

“Shit,” said Christine. “That really is a genuine one.”

“Told yer,” said the man. “Here. Have a closer look.” He tossed the pack in the air, which she deftly caught.

The Fabled Four present
, she read,
Commander Yorin, complete with authentic weaponry and action move
.

She flipped it, glancing at the instructions and complete range of toys printed on the card at the back.

There has to be something wrong with it.

Turning it back to the front, she scrutinised the facial features and joints of the toy. It appeared perfect, like she’d just plucked it from the shelf in a Toy and Hobby store.

“How much?”

The man had also removed a pack of Rothman cigarettes from his coat. “Mind?”

Christine shook her head and motioned to her ashtray on the floor near his feet.

He bent over and picked it up. “You do know the retail value of those things, right? Sold out everywhere. They don’ come cheap, nor are they hand delivered to your door.” He winked again. “Usually.”

Christine had stood in front of the vast section they’d had in stock at Asda weeks ago. The four main figures were the tip of the iceberg, what with all the villains, bit characters, vehicles… She swore they made the toys first and based the show around them, a captivating twenty-four minute commercial. Just a single figure of one of The Four would have required some serious budgeting on her part.

“I
know
how much they are,” she said. “I want to know how much this one is. The package is a bit beaten up.”

About to light up his smoke, the man threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, I can see you’re used to only the very best things in life. You ain’t going to stiff me over a bit of folding over the corner there. The toy is fine; kid ain’t going to care about the pack. You need to cut through it anyway. Think the toy’s worth…say…a tenner.”

“A tenner?” she spat. That was only a few quid cheaper than they were in the shops!

He lit up and held his hands out innocently, the cigarette poked between his fingers. “Come on, guy’s gotta make a living. For what it cost me and the bus fare and everything, a tenner’s still a bargain.”

What did it cost you? she thought. It probably slipped inside that coat of yours last time you were out on the rob.

Still, this was her last chance to get her hands on one of these. All the shops were sold out this close to Christmas, even if she could afford what they were asking. “Five.”

“Love.” The guy snorted again. “Please.”

“I’m sure you don’t want to be messing around with coin,” said Christine. Her bag sat next to the television. She walked over and pulled out her purse. Perhaps the sight of some cash might motivate the sale…

“Exactly. A ten pound note would be grand.”

She unhooked the clasp and spread the frayed leather of her purse. If the guy didn’t want coin, he was shit out of luck. All she had was coin, and most of it silver. She’d be lucky to scrape together the five pounds she’d offered.

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “Tenner right? If you could wait until the week after Christmas, next pay day, I can—”

The man roared with amusement, his laughing mouth cavernous. “Wait till next pay day? What am I? A fucking catalogue? Ah, that’s great.” He lifted the cigarette to his teeth. “How about we arrange an easy repayment schedule over the next twelve months?” That set him off bellowing again.

“Well it’s five pounds now or ten pounds in a week,” said Christine, trying to stand firm. This was her own home, and the arsehole had been in charge since he barged inside. “Depends how desperate you are for the cash.”

“No, sweetie. It depends how desperate
you
are for the toy. We both know that you can’t get these any more. Anywhere. So the question remains…are you going to let some other kid wake up to that Christmas morning?” He nodded at the toy she held in a death-grip. “Or are you going to give it to your son?”

Damn you.

She thought of the pitiful figure upstairs, sleeping so deep she hadn’t even bothered locking him in. He’d be out until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it. Christmas was a privilege, not a right. Why the hell should some retarded rabid animal be treated?

Because this wasn’t about Wesley. The toy, to be able to provide Wesley with the only thing he wanted, well, that was a parent’s job wasn’t it? If she could do that, that one small gesture, that one simple step, she could change things. Change life. One great, happy day, that’s all they needed.

And for that, she needed the toy.

“Okay,” he said. “Look, I need the money as much as the next guy, but I can’t go and spoil your boy’s Christmas, especially with him ill and everything. Let’s agree on five.”

Christine nearly dropped her purse. “Really?”

“Really. Five,” said her visitor. He sat back on the sofa, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. “But first I need to see your tits.”

Christine chuckled and with the action figure clamped under her arm, started to dig through the cluster of receipts in her purse, desperate for a five pound note. At least if she paid in coin it would help with his bus trip back to…well, he never said which part of town he was from.

“I’m not joking, love.”

Christine looked back over her shoulder.

Clearly, he was
not
joking. His roguish sly smile had gone, and he stared at her with an intense blankness, the way Wesley sometimes looked when she refused to let him have his way.

Fuck, she thought. He’s one of
them
. I should have seen it the moment I opened the goddamn door.

A spaz, just like Wesley, only big and mean and in my home.

She saw her son in the dark centre of the prickly bush, shoving his hand down the pants of Kelsey Bremner.

“Come on, mate,” she said. “Stop taking the piss.” She wanted his smile to break, and for him to crack a jovial line. Still he glowered, mouth pressed into a tight line. “Come on. My kid’s upstairs. Don’t do this.”

“Not just your boy needs a happy Christmas,” he said. “Way I see it, you don’t have much choice.”

His words sunk in. He wasn’t just talking about the toy anymore.

She slowly returned her purse inside her bag, and placed the whole lot, toy and all, beside the television.

Her mind raced with possible solutions. Could she make it to the hall and out the front door before he laid a hand on her? Only if she was very lucky, and would she leave Wesley in the house with him? Her choice of weapons appeared grim.

Christine smiled. She reached back inside her handbag.

“Hey,” said the guy, leaning forwards. “What are you doing?”

“Relax.” She pulled out her own packet of cigarettes, the lighter rattling inside. “It’s not too late to change your mind. Just get up and walk out. I doubt I’ll remember what you look like.”

He sniffed and settled back down. “Must think I’m bloody stupid.”

“I’ll scream.”

“No one will come.” He chuckled. “No one ever comes.”

Christine sneered, poked a cigarette between her lips and lit it.

“Well come on then.” His unsettling blankness had returned with his renewed demand. “Let’s see ‘em.”

You won’t see much afterwards, thought Christine. Not through one eye at least.

She’d burn out both given the chance.

Taking a deep, steadying drag, Christine deliberately eased her body around to face him. Her nipples had already grown stiff with fear, something she hoped he didn’t mistake for lust. She mentally slapped herself, aware that she still hoped his better side would shine through. He would push it all the way. Men always did.

“I’m not comfortable doing this,” she said and before he could raise any objections, “but I will. Hear that? Shit.” She took another long draw on the cigarette. “On two conditions. One, that’s it. It goes no further. Two, I get the toy free of charge.”

He glanced up from her body. “What?”

“You heard.” Gripping the cigarette between her teeth, she quickly pulled both arms inside her baggy t shirt and out the bottom. Removing her smoke with one hand, carefully, to not knock out the glowing tip, she yanked the garment over her head with the other. In just her bra and jeans, she stared at him. “Do we have a problem?”