Blood and Water: Three Short Stories

Blood and Water

  Three Short Stories

  Charles Jay Harwood

  ISBN 9781476136639

  First Published in copyright 2012 by Charles Jay Harwood All rights reserved. The Right of Charles Jay Harwood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988 Section 77 and 78.

  This edition 24 May 2017.

  Author’s thrillers

  To my parents

  Contents

  Blood and Water

  Dead Letter Room

  What Simon Knows

  Author’s thrillers

  Blood and Water

  The stone in my chest weighed heavily, like the holdall I hoisted from my wardrobe. The truth was out. My father had gone to see a solicitor and I didn’t know when he would return.

  I had packed my things two months back since viewing my room as one who lodged there and whose days were numbered. I trudged towards my awaiting taxi. The driver glanced at me as he deposited my holdall in the boot. ‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’ he asked gruffly.

  I steeled myself. ‘I’m sixteen.’

  I knew what he was thinking. Yes, yes, I had exaggerated my age. I am in fact thirteen. My half-sisters Carla and Suzie had demonstrated the wonders of eyeliner and high heels via beauty treatments Mum constantly supplied them. Mum, by the way lives down the road with Uncle Martin, who is her boyfriend and my half-sisters’ dad. Uncle Martin, with his designer stubble and his shiny Mercedes, would often be seen flaunting his princesses in the Silver Spoon.

  ‘If we weren’t related, we wouldn’t bother with you,’ Suzie claimed one day as she preened me up like Barbie. I knew they were right. What sort of thirteen-year old would spend hours staring through a big old telescope trained upon Betelgeuse or wonder at a lunar eclipse? ‘Your dad’s boring for buying you something like that,’ Carla echoed Suzie’s tone. ‘No wonder Mum left him.’

  The truth was, I had yearned for a Skywatcher Explorer since I was six and Dad had worked overtime to get one. ‘Leave my dad alone!’ I grumped.

  Carla retained a smirk. ‘God, you’re just like him.’

  I stepped from the taxi and approached the squat complex. The windows looked small – crushed together like the bedsits within. Mrs. Lee, the lady I had spoken to on the telephone was wiping the desk as I entered. ‘Well, look at what the breeze brought in,’ she said in a southern lilt.

  I swallowed hard. ‘I…er…I was hoping you might have a room to spare.’

  Mrs. Lee’s expression became wry. My makeup wasn’t fooling her for a moment. ‘What are you running away from, pet?’

  I gave her a sullen look. ‘Nothing. I don’t have any parents.’ I don’t know why I had volunteered that last remark. I suppose it stopped her from asking more questions.

  Mrs. Lee was watching me with a small frown. ‘The hostel is full, but I could fit you in the drier room behind the laundry. No one goes in there.’

  I sighed with relief. ‘Thank you.’

  Mrs. Lee led me through a corridor exhibiting a huge tropical fish tank toward a room adjoining the kitchen. It was dark, but warm and smelled of baked bread. She gathered cushions and a duvet, and laid them on the floor. She hesitated before leaving. ‘I’ll leave the kitchen light on if you like. Let me know if you need anything, won’t you?’

  I nodded and proceeded to burrow myself beneath the duvet like a snail retreating into its shell. I waited until she had closed the kitchen door before I unzipped my holdall. I munched a Kit-Kat, crisps and downed it with coke. I scanned the job section in the local: shop-work, cleaning, delivering. Not much on offer for someone of my age, but then I wasn’t exactly looking for a career. I reclined and stared out of the small window as the clouds engulfed the moon. Thoughts of what Carla said plagued me; the way she had looked at me one day as though I had become a weird life form.

  ‘What is it about you, Abbey?’ she queried with a little glint. Suzie echoed Carla’s expression behind her. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered why we have nothing in common?’

  I tried to sound breezy. ‘Can’t say that I have.’

  Carla licked her lips. ‘Maybe we’re not the half-sisters you think we are.’

  I glanced at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Just something I overheard.’ Carla left the remark suspended for effect.

  My mouth knit. ‘You’ve been listening to some rubbish at the Silver Spoon again, haven’t you? Taking gossip as gospel? Well, I hope we’re not half-sisters! I ought to be glad not to be related to you two!’

  Carla’s expression grew intent. ‘But what if I told you that you’re not even related to your dad?’

  My expression crumbled. My dad?

  Carla glanced demurely away. ‘Okay, so it was the Silver Spoon. I overheard my dad’s friend talking and I happened to overhear. Mum left your dad because she got bored. All he cared about was his job, bills and stuff, dreary responsibilities. She’s not even sure that you’re his.’

  ‘Shut up!’ I blurted. ‘You’re just jealous because Uncle Martin does nothing but spend money on you. He doesn’t spend time with you like my dad does!’

  Suzie giggled with nerves. She shielded her reddening face behind her hand and turned away. Carla didn’t notice. ‘Well, at least I know who my father is!’

  That was it. I darted from the room. I ran down the street and through the park. I continued across the field and over the railway bridge. I kept on running until my lungs burned. I tried to spurn the horrid things Carla had said, but it began to eat at me. Every time father smiled at me, talked about the stars and kissed me good night, the sentiments felt misplaced, that one day, I would be exposed for the imposter I really was. I feared the disappointment in his eyes, the pretence. I would run away from his rejection before it caught up with me. And I would keep on running.

  My thoughts scattered when footsteps broke the silence. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. A torch blinded me. The next thing I knew, a policeman had entered the room and was gently urging me to my feet. Mrs. Lee emerged from behind, watching with grave concern.

  The next half an hour was a blur of kindly strangers, urging motions, the purr of the police car and gentle words. I wasn’t listening. A stabbing feeling eclipsed everything. What would my father say? Would he raise his voice? Would he loose it – something he had never done before? Would he refuse to look at me before sending me away?

  Mrs. Lee conferred with the policeman and accompanied me to my dad’s house. The living room’s light pierced the gloom. I knew my father was waiting for me.

  I made my way through the hallway. I stopped. Mrs. Lee stood beside me. Slowly, I approached the door. I turned the handle and entered like Dorothy in Oz facing the Wizard. I kept my eyes on the carpet, but I could feel my father’s eyes on me. Mrs. Lee closed the door behind me.

  ‘Come closer,’ my father’s voice came, clear and resonant.

  For a moment, my legs wouldn’t comply. And then I shuffled forward until I stood in front of him.

  ‘Abigail?’

  My voice stuttered into life like an old engine. ‘I thought…’ My voice became a whisper. ‘I thought it was right that I should leave, since I don’t really belong here.’

  My father’s breaths were audible in contemplation. ‘I see,’ he said. And the room fell silent. ‘So why didn’t you go to your mother’s?’

  I simply shrugged.

  ‘Running away isn’t the answer,’ he uttered. I looked up and met his level gaze. ‘I should know. Your mother was seventeen when she had you. She was going to have you adopted. I offered to take you because I thought you were mine. I discovered the truth w
hen you were two. I realised by then that I couldn’t give you away. I tried to keep it from everybody, especially your real father. I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to stay here anymore.’

  My mouth dropped open with the realisation he had harboured the same fear of rejection as I had.

  His eyes grew moist. ‘Suppose I told you that your real father…’ His voice faltered, ‘is your Uncle Martin?’

  My mind fell blank before a barrage of thoughts invaded my brain. ‘But that would mean Carla and Suzie are my sisters – real sisters.’

  ‘You have a choice, Abigail.’

  I didn’t understand what he meant for a moment. And then my eyes filled with tears. ‘But it’s not my home there!’ I blurted. ‘Uncle Martin isn’t my dad! You are!’

  Something in my father’s expression changed. In a sudden lurching motion, he clumsily pulled me towards him. My breaths spurted from my lungs and I caught my mouth on the ball of his chin. His stubble prickled my cheek and I became limp, like a ragdoll. ‘You are my daughter,’ he grunted. ‘No one’s taking you away from me.’

  Mrs. Lee coughed from behind. My father took a moment to come to his senses. He released me. ‘The police need to speak with you,’ she said.

  I looked down at my father and noticed how the rims of his irises were stained a darker hue. I stumbled from his lap and I walked to my room with a slight wobble. My legs finally gave way and I collapsed onto the bed. I could hear Mrs. Lee telling my father off for being so rough with me. She came in a moment later to see if I was all right. ‘My