Slow Burning Lies (8 page)

16

It might have been because of his confession to the priest, or it might not, but that night Patrick’s comforting dreams pushed the evil ones to a faraway place. His sleeping mind witnessed a glass shattering on a bedside table, the water from it fizzing to nothingness in the heat, then the table turning into a crooked charcoal mess, and also Dad’s newspaper shrinking to a delicate black ghost moments before the single light bulb hanging from above shattered in the heat.

The following day he had another productive day at work. There was very little chat with Paulo, and a lot of coding and testing of lines of program late into the day. He had a quiet evening in and for the second night in a row the only dreams he had were the comforting ones that drove him deeper into undisturbed slumber.

And again, the next day he was firing on all cylinders, working hard at OrSum, making ever more progress on the Zombie Stomper project, and gaining credit in Beth’s good books – or at least giving himself hope of wiping out his overdraft.

At the end of that day he stopped late at work again and intended to do much the same with his evening.

Until he heard the voice behind him:

‘Okay, okay. I give in.’

Patrick finished the line he was typing and turned his swivel chair. ‘Hi, Beth.’

‘You do realize how many hours you’ve put in these last two days, Patrick?’

‘Just trying to get this module finished, like I said I would.’

Beth stood with her hands on her hips and surveyed the darkened office, banks of PCs all switched off except for one. ‘So, are you done for today?’

‘Almost.’

‘Come on, Patrick. You got your gold star.’ She sat on the corner of his desk. ‘Look, I’m stopping off at Rudy’s Blues Bar on my way home, you’re welcome to join me.’

‘What? Now?’ Patrick pointed to the screen. ‘I was nearly there, just debugging the font display.’

Beth gave him a sideways stare. ‘Is that a “no”?’

Patrick stretched and yawned, then drew his fingertips down his tired face.

What the hell? What was there to lose? And perhaps there might be something to gain. And the invite was as pleasant as it was unexpected.

Rudy’s Blues Bar was tucked away in the less fashionable end of the riverside area, and inside it still somehow managed to have that authentic, smoky atmosphere long after smoking inside had been prohibited.

Beth insisted on buying the drinks. Patrick didn’t argue, and they settled down at a table near the band. Within minutes they had to applaud as the number finished and the singer announced a short interval.

Beth hopped her eyes upwards. ‘Good timing, huh?’

Patrick agreed with the sentiment, but said nothing. Without music the evening could be one long pregnant pause. What could he talk about with Beth? She was essentially his boss, so he could be giving notice to quit if he said the wrong thing. And what would be the wrong thing – trying something on with her or
not
trying something on?

So he said nothing. He was uncomfortable in the silence, and conscious that Beth wasn’t. In fact, she didn’t seem the type to be uncomfortable in any situation. They both glanced around the bar for a minute before she spoke without looking at him.

‘I guess I owe you an apology,’ she said.

‘What for?’

Only then did she turn to him. ‘I came on to you a bit hard the other day.’

Patrick shrugged. ‘I was sleeping on the job, I guess you had to say something.’

‘But you thought I was a bitch, right?’

Damn right he did. A full-on four-legged hairy thing on heat.

‘God, no,’ he said, then hid his expression in the gulp of beer.

‘Well, I apologize, anyway. It was tactless of me. It must be difficult settling in a foreign country on your own.’

Patrick wanted to say that this wasn’t the issue, that the dreams were still there in the back of his mind, nagging him even when they weren’t happening, and that left no room in his mind for thoughts of family. But he wanted to downplay his nightmares; after all, that was going to be the only way to escape from their curse, to lock those thoughts away. So he said nothing.

‘I know I should be a little more understanding,’ Beth said. ‘My mom keeps telling me off for that, say’s I’ll never find a man if I behave like one.’

‘Ouch!’ Patrick said. ‘Your mother said that?’

Beth let out a throaty laugh. ‘She’s like that, the governess of the school of hard knocks.’ She gave a pensive glance into space. ‘Still, I’m glad I have my mom. I appreciate that.’

And Patrick surveyed Beth just as she had him. Perhaps she wasn’t so bad after all. Just your average hard-working career girl. A bit too much resolve for his tastes and as starched-up as a shirt-collar, but essentially an okay girl when off-duty, albeit a girl he wouldn’t want to hit on in a hundred years.

There was another long pause. Patrick again felt an awkwardness in the air, and again, Beth seemed content. The guitarist came back on stage and started to leaf through his book of music. Patrick willed him to start playing. He walked back off without even picking up the instrument.

‘Does your mother live around here?’ Patrick said eventually.

Beth laughed. ‘No way. I’m from Tennessee.’

Why did she laugh at that? Was that such a big mistake to make?

‘What does she do?’ he said.

‘Not much. Ponders on a life of regrets, mostly.’

‘And your father?’

‘Not capable of pondering.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Patrick said.

‘No, no. He’s not dead.’ Beth laughed again. ‘Just incapable of pondering.’

A confused frown stopped Patrick speaking.

‘I mean, he left my mom.’

‘You see him?’

‘We… we fell out a long time ago.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Patrick said.

‘Don’t be. I couldn’t give a shit about the useless bum.’ She took a long drink, then said, ‘You know the expression
“best years of my life”
?’

Patrick nodded.

‘My mom could have been anything. She’s a smart woman. She could have gone places. But she stopped going anywhere when she fell for my dad. All I remember from when I was young is them arguing, first about her going out to work instead of looking after me and the house, then later on arguing about money, specifically how much of
his
money
she
was spending. On both cases the arguing only stopped when Mom gave in. I think – no, I
know
– she gave in for my sake, to stop the bickering. But after a few years there was no more give left in her, she just did as she was told. And you know how he repayed her?’

Beth emptied her glass and slammed it down on the table.

‘If it’s upsetting you to talk about it,’ Patrick said.

Beth lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. ‘Yeah, sorry. Sounds like I’m taking it out on you.’ She looked up. ‘I’m not, honestly.’ She pointed to Patrick’s glass. ‘One more?’

Patrick nodded then stood up.

‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I know how little you get paid, remember.’

Soon Beth came back with two fresh drinks. ‘So you want to know what Ol’ Pa did?’

‘Only if you’re sure you don’t mind talking about it.’

‘Sure, I don’t mind.’ She took a swig and drew breath.

‘I was fourteen, Mom and Dad were mid-forties, I guess. According to Mom that’s the time a woman starts getting too old to be attractive, and a man starts becoming rich enough to be attractive whatever he looks like. They can fuck that rule for me, I can tell you. Anyway, that was the first time Dad left her.’

‘The
first
time?’

‘He moved in with a twenty-six year old he worked with, and so did his pay check. Left Mom with nothing. Didn’t last, of course.’

‘And she took him back?’

‘Had no choice. Next was about six months later. A twenty-two-year old this time. A waitress. She lasted longer, almost four months. But he left her and came back again, and Mom let him again.’

‘That must have been awful, I mean—’

‘Oh, that’s not it,’ Beth said. ‘I’m leaving the best till last.’

‘It happened again?’ Patrick said.

‘Beth pursed her lips and nodded.

‘How old was she this time?’

‘There wasn’t a
she
this time. He just had to go, never came back.’

‘No?’

‘He knew he wasn’t welcome.’

‘Why did he leave?’

There was a long pause. Beth went to speak a couple of times but stalled. It was the first sign of any indecision or hesitation Patrick had noticed in her.

 
‘It… it doesn’t matter why,’ she said eventually. ‘What matters is how he did it. That bastard controlled my mother. Everything was in his name – house, savings, everything. Well, everything except me.’

‘But why did he leave?’

Beth sat back, tilted her head and aimed her gaze nowhere in particular. ‘Like I say, that doesn’t matter. What mattered is he left us and then we found out the son of a bitch had sold the house and moved the proceeds abroad. He left us with no house and no income. An uncle gave us some money to see a lawyer but apparently what Dad did wasn’t exactly okay legally, but not something it was worth chasing him across the world for.’

‘So you had to leave your home?’

Beth shrugged. ‘The house didn’t belong to us anymore.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘We did the only thing we could. We moved into a stinking goddam flea-pit of a trailer. I tried to help her get her life back on track, but it was no good. Even going outside was a struggle for her. I told her she could go back to college, retrain, but she just couldn’t. I don’t think she could trust anyone after what Dad did. It’s what some people do to their so-called loved ones.’

‘Some men?’ Patrick said.

‘Some men, some women.’ Beth twitched her eyebrows. ‘Mostly men.’

‘So, is she all right now?’

Beth took a drink and nodded. ‘She’s got a nice place. I make sure of that.’

‘Good,’ Patrick said. ‘That’s good. And your father?’

She shrugged. ‘Fuck his selfish ass, wherever he is.’

Patrick nodded slowly. ‘Now I can see—’

‘Now you can see why I’m such a hard-assed bitch?’

Patrick kept his lips tightly shut.

‘Those are my words, not yours, right?’ Beth said.

‘No.’ Patrick paused and tried to choose his words with care. ‘I can see why you’re so driven, why you work so hard to be a successful and independent woman.’

Beth laughed. ‘A
“successful and independent woman”
, that old cliché, meaning there’s no way a man’s going to have a hold on me.’

‘Would any man even try?’

‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment but I’ll assume it is.’

‘Phew!’ Patrick drew his fingertips along his forehead and shook off the imaginary sweat.

‘So, that’s enough about me. What about you, still having those bad dreams of yours?’

‘Since you ask, no, not really.’

‘Good. That’s good. I guess that’s why you’ve been stopping late, why you’ve been busting your ass to get the module completed on schedule.’

‘Beth?’

‘What?’

‘About my dreams, perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything to you. I think I’m okay now.’

‘Good.’

‘Could we pretend I never said it?’

Beth held her hands up. ‘Hey, I haven’t told anyone, haven’t recorded it anywhere, your prerogative.’

‘Thanks.’

They both turned as the jazz band settled back down on the stage, the trumpeter’s fingers a blur as they punched the buttons of his instrument.

‘Just one thing,’ Beth said.

‘What?’

‘How are you getting on with Paulo?’

Patrick thought for a moment then nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Just okay?’

Patrick thought for a moment, trying to second guess what the next question might be if he simply said yes, and ending up saying nothing.

‘You talk to him, yes?’

Patrick nodded.

‘Did you mention your dreams to him?’

‘No. At least I don’t think so.’

Beth now raised her voice over the music, the piano and bass now having joined in. ‘Which is it?’

‘What?’

‘Is it
no
or is it
you don’t think so
?’

‘Why do you ask?’

Beth stalled again for a few seconds, then said, ‘Hey, let’s just listen to the music. Pretend I never asked.’

Patrick smiled and nodded agreement. They both sat back and looked to the band. A potted history of Beth’s parents had been a welcome diversion, but, as always, it all came back to his dreams. His fingers strummed on the table, his head nodded in time with the beat, and he knew that as long as his mind was soothed by the patterns of the melody it wouldn’t be tilling the earth for the hidden bones of Carrie, Jimmy, the hotel guests, and the countless others he had slaughtered in his sleep.