And then they were gone, and he was finally alone, left to try and make some sense of the madness of this morning. He looked out of the window at the pervert lying on the gravel by the side of the family car. What the fuck is wrong with all these people? He was surrounded – both in this house and in this town – by crazy people. What had he done to deserve this? A wife who cheated on him, step-kids who couldn’t stand him… He thought about just getting in the car and going, but that wasn’t going to happen. He had nowhere to go. He checked he’d still got the door key in his pocket, then walked around downstairs and made sure all the other doors and windows were locked too. If I can’t go anywhere, neither can they. Not until I decide.
In frustration, hoping to get rid of some of the pent-up anger festering inside him, Scott picked up the sledgehammer. It was where he’d left it on Sunday evening. He shoved the kitchen table back and began to swing at the hole in the wall. Again and again he swung the hammer at the brickwork, feeling satisfied every time a piece of masonry fell, kicking rubble out of the way so he could keep swinging. He’d thought previously that he might be capable of demolishing this whole bloody house, now he thought he might actually be about to do it.
A frantic few minutes and the hole had almost doubled in size, but it still wasn’t enough. He lifted the hammer to swing it around again, then stopped, feeling like he was being watched. Phoebe was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in her school uniform, face white and eyes red. ‘What do you want?’ She was almost too afraid to talk. She fidgeted on the spot, eyes on the sledgehammer, not him. ‘What?’ he shouted at her again, and she jumped at the noise.
‘My dad’s gone,’ she said quietly, wincing in anticipation of his reaction.
‘So? Do you think I give a shit about your bloody father after what he’s done this morning?’
She was crying again now, sobbing hard, shoulders shaking. It was almost impossible to speak between the tears but she made herself do it. ‘Please, Scott… I know what he did but I’m worried…’
‘Then you go and sort him out.’
‘I can’t get out.’
‘I’ll let you out.’
‘I think something’s wrong with him.’
‘I know something’s wrong with him. Sick fucker.’
‘Please, Scott… Please help.’
Scott swung the sledgehammer at the wall again, grunting with effort, then he stopped. He looked over at Phoebe. Was any of this her fault? Her sister was a genuinely spiteful and vindictive bitch, but Phoebe wasn’t. She was just a scared and vulnerable kid who’d already seen things she should never have seen this morning, things which would no doubt scar her for life.
‘His trousers are still in the yard,’ she said, sniffing back more tears. ‘And his pants…’
‘Wait here,’ he told her, deciding he needed to make sure Jeremy was well away from the house. ‘I’ll go and look.’
Scott side-stepped Phoebe then let himself out and locked the door behind him. Phoebe went to the window and watched, keeping out of sight as Scott hunted around the yard, checking under the car and around the side of buildings and walls, like he was trying to find a missing cat… She didn’t know what to do for the best. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She’d seen more than she’d let on, and she didn’t know why her mum and dad had done what they’d done. He’d always been a good dad. He’d always looked out for her and Tammy and Mum, even after they’d split up. He’d always said kind things about her, and had never talked about Scott in the unkind, disrespectful way Scott usually talked about him. But she couldn’t think about Dad like she used to now, because she had an image burned into her head that she couldn’t shake: her own father, lying on his back in the middle of the yard of this horrible grey house, beaten up and bleeding, half-naked and exposed to the world.
She just wanted all of this to stop.
Scott couldn’t find him. Surely the dirty bastard couldn’t have got far? He climbed up onto the stone wall at the end of the drive to get a better view and looked out over the fields on the other side of the road. He could see for miles, but he couldn’t see Jeremy.
He had to have gone back into town. Where else would he be? Scott picked up Jeremy’s trousers so he could sort him out when he finally found him, though he didn’t know why he was bothering. Sick fucker didn’t deserve his help.
Scott walked back to the house then got in the car and drove towards Thussock. The roads were silent today, absolutely no other traffic about. He couldn’t remember having seen a single other vehicle, not that he’d been looking.
When he reached the wooden bus shelter near to the small house where those bizarre twins lived, he slowed down. He could see movement, though he couldn’t quite make out what it was at first. Wait… it looked like someone lying on the ground on the other side of the shelter, feet sticking out but the rest of their bodies obscured by the little wooden building. Hang on, there was more than one person. Had someone else found Jeremy? Were they helping him? He hoped so, because he didn’t want to have to. He decided he’d just make sure it was him, throw the sick fuck his trousers, then go back and tell Phoebe everything was okay, that her dad was fine.
He parked in the bus space in front of the shelter and walked around the Zafira. Then he just stopped, struggling to understand what he was seeing. In spite of everything he’d already witnessed today, what was unfolding in front of him now was bizarre, grotesque and just… wrong. He’d found Jeremy all right, but there was a woman with him. More than just with him, she was astride him. Fucking him. Riding him in broad daylight, neither of them appearing to give a damn about anyone or anything else.
‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded. The woman – who he didn’t recognise – slowly turned her head to face him but didn’t otherwise react, so consumed by what she was doing with Jeremy to care, overcome with pleasure and completely uninhibited. Scott followed a trail back to the bus shelter with his eyes… her shoes, her knickers, the remains of a torn pair of tights… Christ, had this woman just been waiting for a bus when Jeremy came wandering down the road, and had they just decided to fuck on the spur of the moment? It had to have been quick and spontaneous, no time for small-talk or foreplay. Scott almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it all, but the serious implications of what he was seeing were clear. There was something inherently sinister about this inexplicable public display of base emotion, something clearly unnatural about this most natural of acts. Should he stop it? Try to separate them? Or should he just get back in the car and drive home and pretend none of it was happening?
‘Jeremy, what the hell are you doing?’ he asked, hanging back a short distance, almost too embarrassed to keep watching but unable not to. ‘Do you know what—?’
A howl of pleasure from the woman interrupted him mid-sentence. He watched as she threw her head back and looked up into the swirling white clouds overhead, groaning as she started to cum. Scott stared as she began to experience an orgasm of remarkable intensity, muscles hard in spasm, gripping Jeremy’s shoulders tight. Scott could take no more and he returned to his car, head spinning. He couldn’t understand why such an uptight little idiot as Jeremy would behave this way? He’d always been so reserved, so proper, overly polite… Michelle used to joke about how awkward he’d always been about sex, how it had always been safe and functional with Jeremy. Never spontaneous. Boring, even. Text-book.