The Mutilation Machination (6 page)

Bob smiled. “Kids. They can be such little devils.”

Over the next few days, I felt like a stranger in my own house.
Bob and his family took over. They went through my things, with no regard for
privacy. Bob joked about my acts of valour; he called me a little hero, but he
always said it sarcastic, mind. I think he liked having a dig at me whenever he
could to show who the chief was.

I had an inkling that the prolonged heat spell was down to Bob,
too.

Work on the house next door went ahead, and in a few days, it was
finished. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but then if you have the Devil
for a boss, you aren’t going to mooch around.

On the fourth morning after the devil and his family arrived, they
finally moved into 63, Grove Crescent.

I thought that would be the end of my problems, but I hadn’t
bargained on the kids. They were forever throwing stones through my windows and
banging on my front door in the middle of the night. It’s not as if I could
complain.

But then I woke one morning, opened the curtains and looked down
to see my precious poppies strewn across the garden. The stems had been
snapped, and the petals scattered like confetti.

Enough was enough. This had gone too far.

Even though I was an ex-soldier, I’ve never thought of myself as a
violent man, but something in me just snapped. My garden was a symbol of
remembrance, because some things should never be forgotten, and those kids from
hell had desecrated it, and the memory of everything it stood for.

The trunk containing my old uniform had sat beneath the bed for
years, and as I pulled it out, the courage I used to feel when wearing it,
surged back into my body.

This was war.

When nightfall fell, I crept outside and through the garden of
petals. It angered me to look at what they had done, so I kept my eyes averted.

The lights were on next door, and I could hear the familiar shouts
and squeals of the Devil and his spawn.

The petrol I carried sloshed in its can. If you listened real
close, it almost sounded like a phlegm filled voice, urging me on.

But I didn’t need no urging. I was mad as a March hare.

After dousing the house in petrol, I set it alight. It was a
remarkable sight. The screams of those trapped inside could be heard three or
more streets away, or so I was told.

When the police arrived, I was stood in my field of poppies,
watching the house burn. Dressed in my uniform, I felt proud. The medals the
kids had thrown away were pinned to my chest. This was my last, great act. My
final stand against the last great evil.

Sat here in my cell, awaiting sentence, I don’t feel any remorse.
People just don’t realise what a great service I’ve done for them. They showed
me photos of the bodies, their skin bloated and red, popped in places with
weeping sores. They gave the people names that were unfamiliar to me, but none of
it was real. I know who it really was, you see. You can dress it up any way you
like, but I know I did something good.

They were the neighbours from Hell, and I’d sent them back.

The cell door suddenly opened and a tall man stooped to enter. He
stood and stared at me for a moment. There was something vaguely familiar about
him.

“Looks like we’ll be sharing a cell,” he said.

I nodded.

“I’m sure we’ve got plenty to talk about.” The man sat down
opposite me. “You can call me, Bob,” he said with a grin.

In Darkness

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven times, the sound echoing
around the room. Evelyn Lovelace lowered her Braille book and switched on the
table lamp at her side. Sudden heat warmed the back of her hand and she
withdrew it and picked up her novel to resume reading when the doorbell
sounded.

Evelyn sighed, closed the book and stood. She took four steps
forward and then turned forty five degrees to her left, her feet following a
familiar path through the doorway into the hall. Six steps brought her to the
door, the slight draught from around which tickled the fine hairs on her arms.

“Hello,” she said.

“Ah, hello. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’ve just moved in next
door and I saw your light come on and I was wondering if you have any tea I
could borrow. Damn if I didn’t remember to buy some before the shop shut.”

Evelyn listened to the man’s voice, listened to the melodic,
unassuming tone. She knew through experience that you could tell a lot from
someone’s voice, which is why she often wondered how people voted some of those
politicians into positions of power. Didn’t they listen to the way those people
spoke?

“One minute,” she said as she slipped the security chain. She
started to open the door when she remembered she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses,
and that some people found the sight of her rolling eyes disturbing – a great
way to introduce herself to her new neighbour. Past the point of no return, she
thought it would be rude to close the door again, so she pulled it open. A cold
wind embraced her.

“Oh,” the man said. “I erm.”

Evelyn nodded slightly. She wondered what his expression looked
like now that he could see her; wondered if he saw what her mother had seen.

God blighted you for a reason, child. He chose you. You’re
special.

“I heard you banging around earlier,” she said, “and I guessed
someone was moving in because you’d make a lousy burglar with all that noise.”

“Sorry. I mean I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

She shook her head. “It’d take more than that to disturb me.”

“Right, right. It’s just I saw the light, and …”

“Tea, right?”

“Yes, I can’t survive the night without a cup of tea. Forgot to
pack any.”

“Well come in a minute. I’m not standing here letting all the heat
out.”

She heard the man hesitate. “I don’t bite,” she said.

The man laughed. “I’m sure you don’t. It’s just, are you sure? I
mean I could be anyone.”

“If you were anyone, I wouldn’t let you in. But as you’re my new
neighbour, you’re not just anyone, are you.”

“I guess when you put it like that. My name’s Neil. Neil Shore.”

“Evelyn. Now are you coming in or not? I’ve got goose bumps on top
of goose bumps standing here.” She stepped back to allow the man access and
heard him enter the house, bringing with him the strong, nose tickling aroma of
aftershave. She closed the door behind him. “Sorry, one minute,” she said as
she turned on the hallway light. “You forget about these things.”

“Do you live on your own?”

Evelyn nodded. When she realised he might not be looking at her,
she said, “Yes.”

“It was just, you know, the light. I thought ...”

“People would be less likely to rob a house with someone inside.
It’s all illusion. Come on, this way to the kitchen.”

She walked three paces along the hall, then turned forty-five
degrees to her right and stepped into the kitchen with its lingering spicy
aroma of yesterday’s Chinese takeaway. “Sorry about the smell.”

“Chicken satay, if I’m not mistaken.”

Evelyn nodded. “Very perceptive.”

“Well, it would be, but the bill’s on the table.”

Evelyn laughed. “I’ll have to remember to tidy up next time.” She
walked across the room and reached out and fingered the counter until she found
the rectangular tea caddy. No matter how many times she thought she put things
in the same place, they never seemed to be there next time she came to find
them.

Just you remember, child. When things seem uncertain, the answer
lies at hand.

About to remove the lid, she said, “How about I make us a brew? If
we’re going to be neighbours, it might be nice to get to know each other a
little. Valerie, that’s the person who lived there before you, she was always
popping around for a chat.” She turned and smiled.

Neil chuckled. “Well to tell you the truth, I haven’t got any milk
either, so if you’re offering, I’d love a drink. Thank you. It’s thirsty work
unpacking.”

Evelyn sought the kettle and popped open the lid. Then she filled
it with water, her fingers hanging inside to act as a gauge to ascertain the
level.

“Do you dream in colour?”

Evelyn frowned. “Do I what?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just something I’ve always wondered, you know – I
shouldn’t have asked. Jeez, I’m an idiot. If you could see me, you’d see I’m
blushing. Oh Christ, I didn’t mean—”

Evelyn giggled. “Don’t worry about it. I like someone who’s
straight talking. I take it you don’t know many visually impaired people.”

“Including you, one.”

“Well, everyone has to start somewhere.”

“No, I didn’t mean to suggest anything.”

“I know. Do I dream in colour? No. I’ve been blind since birth, so
I’ve never seen a colour. When I dream, it’s just noise and emotion. I guess I
don’t miss what I’ve never had, so please, if we’re to be friends, don’t ever
feel sorry for me. I hate it when people start all that, oh it must be terrible
not being able to see. To be honest, sometimes it’s a blessing.”

“Okay, I promise.”

Evelyn switched on the kettle and turned to Neil. “You may think
this a little rude, but as we’re straight talking, would you mind if I felt
your face. That way I get a sense of what you look like.”

“Er, sure, I guess.”

She raised her hands and touched his cheeks. They felt cold,
making her flinch. A couple of day’s worth of stubble sprouted around his chin,
the point of which felt a little concave. His eyebrows felt narrow; cheeks
angular; nose curved. She fingered his short, damp hair, ran her fingers around
the shell like whorls of his ears. Finally she touched his lips, the soft skin
yielding beneath her fingers, his breath warm against her hand.

She withdrew her hands. “Are you moving in on your own, or is
there a Mrs Shore?”

“Just me I’m afraid.”

Going by his voice and the impression she had after feeling his
face, she felt glad knowing there was no one else and she smiled to herself.

You have a gift. Use it.

Evelyn ran her fingertips across the coarse fabric of her skirt,
certain she could read a series of Braille like letters from the bobbles in the
material. The letters weren’t perfect, but they were there, a series of up to
six dots for each letter, arranged in a grid of two dots horizontally and three
dots vertically, spelling out the word ‘wabere’. She ran her fingers across the
material again, double-checking. The ‘b’ seemed a little iffy, the two dots
spaced far enough apart they might have been a ‘k’, and the same could be said
for one ‘e’, but her fingers were sensitive enough to decipher them. Her sense
of touch was vital – she had to trust it. It had never let her down before when
she had found the messages. And she’d trusted them then.

wabere

brawee

webare

beware

That was it.

But what did it mean? Beware. Beware of what?

She perused the thought for a while, letting it bounce around
inside her head before she tired of thinking about it and set to cleaning the
house.

Evelyn felt giddy with excitement. Neil had called her and asked
whether she wanted to go out for a drink and something to eat. She couldn’t
believe it – had butterflies in her stomach already.

He arranged to pick her up at six o’clock and take her to the new
Italian restaurant in the town.

Remember child, being blind isn’t a curse. It’s a godsend.

In a world without form, Evelyn was bombarded with noise and
aromas. The smell of garlic assailed her nostrils, accompanied by a potpourri
of spices and herbs that made her mouth water.

“This way. Here, let me help,” Neil said.

Evelyn felt his hand on hers. It felt warm against her skin and
sent a delicious shiver down her spine. She tapped the ground in front with the
stick, a proboscis extending from her hand to search out obstacles that may
trip her up.

Once they reached the table, Neil helped her to be seated and she
collapsed her stick and placed it on the ground by her feet.

“The menus, erm, menu, sir,” a voice said.

Evelyn imagined his face as he stared at her with her dark
sunglasses, his slip of the tongue faux pas not going unnoticed. She felt
herself blush and pursed her lips in annoyance, not that she should be the one
that felt embarrassed.

“Thank you,” Neil said. “Evelyn, would you like me to read it to
you?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind.”

He proceeded to read through the starters and main courses while
she listened, head cocked to catch every word above the chatter of the diners.
She loved the quality of his voice. It had a strong, masculine sound to it.

She eventually decided upon a starter of Carpaccio Di Salome,
which Neil informed her was thinly sliced Scotch salmon, marinated in olive
oil, lime juice, garlic and dill. The way he read it out to her made it
probably sound more succulent than it was. For her main course, she decided on
Pollo Ai Porri E Zafferano; pan-fried breast of chicken in a leek, fresh herbs,
saffron and cream sauce, which sounded delicious.

They made idle chatter while waiting for the meal, and Evelyn
savoured the Sardinian white wine Neil ordered. Conversing with Neil came
without effort. They chatted about various subjects, ranging from school,
friends and family without any hesitation or embarrassing pauses. Evelyn
couldn’t recall when she had felt so relaxed in public.

The aroma of the salmon, garlic, lime and dill wafted into her
nostrils as the starters arrived.

She carefully put down her glass and searched the table with her
fingertips to find the plate and the cutlery. Even though she couldn’t see
anyone, she felt they were staring at her so she tried not to draw attention to
herself, making her movements slow and delicate. Her fingers came into contact
with a place mat, raised up on which she felt a pattern, but which to the
trained hand became letters.

She fingered the design; found an ‘a’ and a ‘d’. Further
exploration unearthed an ‘n’, followed closely by ‘e’, ‘g’ and ‘r’. Adnegr?

She mulled over the letters for a moment, rearranging them in her
mind.

garden

ranged

gander

danger.

She snatched her fingers away.

“What’s the matter?” Neil asked.

Evelyn shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing … the plate was hot,
that’s all.”

“Are you okay? Let me look.”

“No, honestly, I’m fine. It probably felt hotter than it is.
Sensitive digits.” She wiggled her fingers in the air and then placed her hands
back on the table and found the knife and fork. She prodded the fork around the
plate, using the knife in her other hand to ascertain the area of the plate.
Once the cutlery met resistance, she stabbed the food and then sliced it with
the knife, using the weight of the fork to work out whether it contained any
food. Bringing empty prongs to her mouth would only heighten her humiliation,
and she didn’t want to resort to using her fingers in public.

She hoped watching her eat didn’t put Neil off, because he seemed
genuinely interested.

The last time she felt this good was when she gave birth. The
memory of the dependent little baby boy, Aaron, surfaced for air but she pushed
it back down, smothering it with more immediate thoughts to drown it out.

Beware.

Danger.

What were her senses trying to tell her? What did the messages
mean? Why the hell did they have to be so cryptic all the time? She ruminated
while she chewed, but the bitter thoughts impaired the taste, spoiling what
would otherwise be a lovely meal.

Evelyn could smell the faint trace of blood. She sniffed the air.
“Are you bleeding?” she asked.

“Very perceptive,” Neil said. “You should hire yourself out as a
sniffer dog. I cut myself shaving and it seems to be taking a while to stop
flowing.”

“Oh, does it hurt?”

“I’ve done worse.”

“Well don’t stand in the hallway, go through.”

His arrival at the door had come as a (welcome) surprise. After
the other night, she didn’t expect to hear from him again.