I shrugged it off. He couldn’t hurt me. There was blood trickling down his forehead, pooling on his eyebrows, spilling into those open eyes. I saw that the man was completely bald, but he had very bushy eyebrows. His mouth was stretched, gaping in a silent scream, and the headlights of my car reflected the glints of mercury fillings. There seemed to be quite a few of them, maybe he should have chosen white fillings, or brushed more often, or eaten less sugar.
I shivered again. Winter was coming and I should have put on a coat, or at least a thicker cardigan. I looked around me. The lane was silent, a slight rustle of branches in a gathering breeze.
And then I got back in the car and drove home.
***
‘Mum, is there any bacon? Can you do me a bacon sandwich?’
I stared at Daniel and cupped a hand to my ear.
‘Please.’
‘Thank you, Daniel. Anyway, what did your last slave die of?’
‘Disobedience, Mum.’
I smiled at our old joke and took some bacon rashers out of the fridge. I had nothing else to do, anyway. ‘So, let me guess, Daniel. You’ve got another hangover, is that right?’
‘No, actually, it’s not. I had a few drinks around at Paul’s, it was only a few beers or so. I’m just hungry, that’s all.’ Daniel’s tone was snappy, it always was when he had a hangover.
‘Look, you want to keep an eye on your drinking in the week, take it a bit easy. You can’t be drinking every n – ’
‘Oh give it a rest, Mum. Look, forget the bacon sandwich, I’m going out, I’m not going to stay here while you nag me.’
The door slammed again. It really did need looking at. I went back in the kitchen and opened the fridge. The bottle of Chardonnay stared back at me from the shelf. Well, one glass wouldn’t hurt. I looked at the rashers sitting raw in the frying pan, and I thought of the man, and how his head had looked; shards of red and white oozing down his head, down his face. A spark of nervous excitement skittered across my shoulders, and I wondered if he had a wife, children perhaps. No, maybe not children, I mean, they say that too much cycling isn’t good for men’s fertility. I guess those stupid, skinny little bike seats aren’t too good for the testicles. I started giggling to myself and then found I couldn’t stop, until tears were pouring down my cheeks.
Chapter 3
‘Are you alright, Simon, are you eating okay, have you made any more friends?’
‘Yes, Mum, don’t fuss, it’s all fine. And yes, I’m eating well- a lot of pasta, to be honest, it’s a bit of a staple for most of us students. Quick, easy and cheap. And actually, yes, I’ve met quite a few people. I’ve been hanging out with some friends of John’s – you know John, I mentioned him before, he’s on the same course as me, really nice guy – anyway, we’re going out tonight for a few beers, maybe go to a club.’
‘Well, you be careful, the town can be a bit rough at night.’
‘I know, Mum, I know, look you don’t need to worry, I’m not a kid anymore.’
‘I know that, Simon, I’m just checking everything’s okay, that’s all.’
‘Look, Mum, I’d better go, the lads will be round soon, I’ll speak to you soon, yeah.’
‘Okay, Simon, just be sensib – ’. The dial tone buzzed. I put the phone down on the table and sighed. It rang.
‘Simon?’
‘No, it’s me.’ Graham sounded tense, impatient, but I could detect a hint of hesitancy mixed in with the gruffness. I knew Graham well enough to know that meant a lie was coming, he was never very good at lying. ‘Listen, don’t worry about dinner for me tonight, I’m going to be a bit late.’
‘Do you want me to do something and leave it for you? You can microwave it lat – ’
‘No, no, no, I’ll just grab something from the vending machine at work, I’m not too hungry anyway.’ That meant he was going out for dinner with Nikki. Or she was cooking for him...maybe not, she was too young, too precious to cook, young people didn’t seem to cook so much these days; it was all supermarket convenience meals, with fancy boxes and posh-sounding descriptions trying to disguise the fact that they consisted of cheap factory-processed meats. So, a takeaway maybe, he would find that safer, eliminate the risk of