An Extract from The Reckoning

'Your house is your larger body.
It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night
and it is not dreamless.'
-- The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran 1883-1931

Prologue

Cooled by a breath of September, the summer sun floods through the large, clear windows from the garden outside and drenches Camilla's face, replacing the natural colour that has drained away with a golden yellow sheen, giving her an unhealthy jaundiced look. She can't feel its warmth on her skin. She can feel nothing but the cold that is creeping up her numbed legs. The old swing outside, her swing from a childhood long gone by, creaks backward and forward as Gina rides it, screeching out the passing seconds on rusted hinges as she stands there and stares in disbelief. Oh God no, Oh God no what has she done?

The blood moves towards her across the tiled floor, slow and unrepenting, darker and thicker than she expects; but then this liquid that seems like crimson mercury sucking at her shoes is not from a frivolous scratch or graze, pink and light, to be laughed away. No, this is life's blood, Philip's life blood, and it is leaving him furiously, escaping in floods, no longer needed.

Her shaking hand releases the carrot that will no longer be eaten for dinner tonight, the carrot she'd been so angrily chopping, teeth gritted, wishing he would just SHUT UP, while her husband shouted. Shouted with all that blood pumping healthily, visible through the throbbing veins on the side of his head. Shouted the words that seemed to echo round her head, the words that he never seemed to tire of.

Kneeling down by his body, his blissfully quiet body, she reaches for the knife that has slid several times into his large torso before settling in its final resting place at the centre of his chest. Oh God, it won't come out, it won't come out, and will this red that is creeping up her cotton dress ever come out? Leaving the weapon embedded there, she rocks backwards and forwards on her heels for a few seconds, her hand pressing against her mouth, unaware of the stain her fingers leave there. Has she done this? Had she wanted to do this? It has all happened so quickly and she is sure, she is sure.....She lets out a small hysterical giggle. One minute in my hand. The next minute it was gone. And for my next trick ladies and gentlemen…..

Her knees are starting to hurt and she slowly pulls herself to her feet. There is nothing to be done. Nothing more can be done. The sound of her heels clicking on the wooden hallway stabs at her brain, too real, too loud, and it is a relief when she reaches the phone.

Her voice is even and calm as she speaks and when it is over she goes to the large stairway and sits on the second step watching the front door. Her hands absently caress the wooden banister, seeking comfort in the familiar carvings, knowing each shape and indent from a lifetime spent here. Her house. Her home. Letting out a long sigh, she hopes the policeman will arrive before Gina comes in from the garden.

-- -- --

The Present

When the front door slammed shut, Carole-Anne let out a small breath and shut her eyes, waiting for the sting in her cheek to fade. Her skin tingled as the pain was replaced by numbness and her shoulders sagged as she leaned her heavy body forward on her forearms, the sturdy kitchen table used to taking the weight. Some women got a kiss good-bye from their husbands in the morning, or so the fairy tales always told you, but not her. Not Carole-Anne Locke. However, there was the small bonus that this time when he'd told her she'd deserved it, there was some truth in the statement. There were no tears today, though. She was all out of tears after all these years.

At least the boys hadn't been there for daddy's daily outburst. How can someone be so ugly and so stupid all at the same time? Swallow that fucking food and answer me that, Carole-Anne. No, Luke and Mark had already left for school. Not that she really cared any more. Sometime, a long time ago, they had been her babies, but now they were their father's boys. Strangers grown inside her, and although deep down somewhere she knew she must love them, if she was honest she didn't like them very much. She tiredly wondered if her increasing fatness was a reflection of the growing weight inside her as she pulled the local paper over from Jimmy's side next to his cooling coffee.

She stared at the front page, needing to think. The headline, in bold black print read, LOCAL TEENAGERS GIVE THEMSELVES UP IN CONNECTION WITH HORRIFIC 'SYRACCOUSE' RAPE CASE. but she ignored the article, having learnt all there was to know about that three days ago in the butchers, and her eyes were drawn to a smaller column down on the right hand side. This was what was unsettling her. 'Famous Writer Comes Back To His Roots.' It went on to say that the best-selling novelist, Robert Reed, had returned to his home town of Streatford after an absence of almost twenty years. The paper hoped to interview him in the near future, and ask if he intends to write his next book here, and will the town feature in it in any way?' All the usual local news crap.

So, Rob was back in town. Three of the four of them were here. Her, Rob and Jason. All that was missing was Gina. Not that she saw Jason much anymore, just the occasional awkward 'hello' if they had to pass each other in the street. After that summer, even though they stayed, had no choice but to stay, stuck here in this dead-end town, their friendship had drifted, oozed quietly away. She'd pretended that it was a natural thing, just part of becoming a teenager, but she'd known deep inside that that wasn't it. After that summer, she hadn't really wanted to see him, to see any of them. And she guessed it was the same for him.

By the time she'd met Jimmy two years later, and oh, what a glorious thing that turned out to be, they were virtual strangers. New friends, new lives, as if none of it had ever happened. Unlike Gina and Rob, she and Jason may not have left Streatford in body, but somewhere in their spirit they did. And slowly she'd forgotten. Put that summer away in a box of hazy childhood memories, barely ever revisited. Real life had taken over. The serious business of growing up and being grown up. Until today. Today, the rusty hinges of that mental treasure chest were creaking open.

First, that awful rape up at the house--they say she'll never be able to have children. What did those boys do to her? I hear there was a bottle involved. Girls these days never seem to learn.... And then one week later Rob was back. Could it just be a coincidence? But why the hell would Rob, the big success, want to come back here?

Not that Rob had done much better than the rest of them. Not really. She'd read the stories in the papers, sometimes with a touch too much curiosity for Jimmy's liking. He'd never forgotten that she'd once had such a crush on Robby; although how anyone that didn't give a shit themselves could get jealous over some schoolgirl thing from so long ago, she'd never understand. But hey, that was her Jimmy, lucky girl that she was. Yeah, she'd read all the stories, and if even only half of them were true then despite all his money, Rob Reed was in a pretty sorry state. The drugs, the booze, the girls, all those girls, pretty and blonde sharing an empty few months before the next one took their place. She watched his life in pictures as it all took its toll. When Jimmy had last ripped a tabloid from her hands and seen what she'd been looking at he'd snorted in disgust. "How can someone have all that and still look so fucking miserable?" But then, Jimmy didn't get Rob. Jimmy would never get Rob, because after all, Jimmy didn't know.

But she knew. She knew, even if he himself didn't, that Rob didn't want to be happy. He didn't think he deserved to be happy. And she knew that because she was there that summer, and maybe she knew because she'd never gone away. She didn't have so many places to hide. Even Jason had eventually got away from time to time, if you can call the odd stretch in Parkhouse, getting away. Sometimes she wondered if he made sure he got caught just so he could go somewhere he could breathe. It was a crazy idea if he had, because now he'd trapped himself in Streatford. Who would employ an ex-con these days except someone who knew you, or your mother, or your auntie? And you had to give that to this town. It definitely knew you.

That summer had tainted them all, and now she had a feeling in her blood that it was happening all over again. Again, but different. Maybe they had got it wrong back then. Maybe they hadn't understood at all. Something was starting; she could feel it fizzing in her. She'd felt it when she poured the boiling water from the kettle over Jimmy's arm only half an hour ago, and she could feel it in her last night when she took the kitchen scissors to the boys' clean clothes in the washing basket waiting for ironing, and then hurriedly hid them away when she realised what she'd done.