LITMIR.BIZ

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horn, he saw the neighbours’ curtains twitching and decided to beep again, making sure Andrea’s neighbours knew that she hadn’t always been the princess she was now, she had slummed it once at least. A ten-minute drive and yet it was like being in another world, just three digits on the postcode felt like entering another country, a cleaner, happier country. Not that the lower end of the city was a ghetto or anything. This regency-period neighbourhood stood high above Exeter city centre, past the prison and the red light district, near the University. All the front gardens were vibrant and blooming. The front doors all freshly painted and the lawns mown. Each house had a clear vista of the little people down below. It even seemed sunnier here. The light bounced off the grand white house. The sun was not diffused by the endless grey terraces that surrounded the tiny plot his modest home occupied on the wrong side of town. Tom walked towards the car with his shoulders hunched over, still uncomfortable in his ever-growing frame. He was just a kid, and yet he was only three years younger than Adrian was when he got Andrea pregnant, and now that Tom was an adolescent, Adrian couldn’t help but compare himself to him. He reminded Adrian of himself, except Tom didn’t have the same hang-ups. At least Adrian hoped he didn’t. They say the first-born child always looks most like the father in order to help the bonding process but it hadn’t helped much in Adrian’s case, if anything it just made him a little sad.

      Andrea was standing in the doorway scowling at Adrian, dressed in her power suit, anyone would think she was a lawyer or something, but no, she worked as a personal shopper in a high-end department store, hardly the end of the world if she took the day off. Adrian had fought long and hard for access to Tom and he could not say no to having him, because he knew she would use it against him, that’s just who she was. She looked good though, she always had looked good and she probably always would. He reluctantly settled his eyes on the curves of her finely toned body. It was as though she had been sewn into her outfit. There wasn’t a wrinkle or a pull in the perfectly tailored ensemble. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a silky bun and the brightness of the diamond studs in her ears flashed against her milk-chocolate skin. People often thought Andrea was Indian or Latin American due to her exotic skin tone but she was in fact half English and half Irish. Adrian looked at her full red lips and looked away before she caught him.

      ‘I’ll pick him up later on,’ she said before switching tones. ‘Love you, baby.’

      ‘Bye, Mum.’

      Tom got in and Adrian pulled away. The familiar awkward silence filled the car. Adrian would have liked to attribute this phenomenon to Tom being a teenager, but the truth was it had always been this way between them, every other weekend for the last seven years. Andrea had tried to shut him out completely, underestimating how motivated Adrian would be about this particular subject. He had fallen in love with Tom from the moment he had first seen him, he had tried his hardest to provide for Andrea but nothing he ever did was enough. Before Tom even turned two Andrea had remarried and she and her new partner had tried to block any kind of access for Adrian. He had finally managed to get regular visitation when Tom was six but by then the damage was already done. Tom and Adrian’s relationship had been strained ever since.

      ‘So how come your school’s shut? Do you know?’

      ‘Yeah, my mate Alex texted me,’ Tom said excitedly. ‘His dad’s a teacher there. They found Mr Stone hanging in the atrium, killed himself, like right in the middle of it.’

      ‘Is that a surprise?’ Adrian didn’t know much about the school Tom attended, Andrea had always maintained it was the best school in the area and so Tom would go there and that was that. She’d made a point of telling Adrian that his input on this matter wouldn’t be needed and so he left all the school stuff to Andrea.

      ‘Shyeah!’ Tom looked at his dad like he was crazy. ‘Apparently there’s going to be some kind of inquiry.’

      ‘No, I mean, did he seem depressed or suicidal or anything?’

      ‘He was pretty miserable but then most of the teachers at that place are, they’re all uptight, you know?’

      ‘Still don’t like it?’

      ‘It’s OK, bit poncey.’

      ‘Well a lot of kids out there wouldn’t mind going to that poncey school, Tom.’ Even though Adrian himself felt exactly the same way about the school, and there was no way Tom would be going there if it weren’t for his stepfather’s money.

      ‘I know,’ Tom mumbled before slumping back in his seat.

      Silence resumed and Adrian kicked himself for pulling out one of those parental lines, he didn’t know how to deal with Tom really. His only reference was his own childhood and he knew that was not the norm, so he resorted to using variations on lines he had heard on cheesy sitcoms. To diffuse the silence he turned the radio on, he could feel Tom’s disapproval at the folk jingle so he turned to another station. After a few minutes of fiddling with the buttons he gave up and turned it off as they pulled up outside his house.

      The one thing Adrian did have right was his lounge. Tom would play it cool but he looked forward to spending time with his father’s gaming set-up, if nothing else. Adrian spent most of his money on what most adults referred to as toys. Andrea had never asked for child support because after they broke up she fell into a relationship almost immediately with a much older, much wealthier entrepreneur. Every month since Tom had been born Adrian had used some of his wage to buy a toy for him, but not just any toy, collectable toys. Star Wars, Star Trek, DC or Marvel, anything that was highly sought after, it would all belong to Tom one day, when he was old enough to appreciate its worth. Every year Adrian would have to insure it all with detailed photographs and lists of everything he owned in case of a house fire, most of it was completely irreplaceable, but it was also incredibly valuable. His whole lounge was shelved from wall to ceiling with pristine boxes on every possible surface. Try explaining to a six-year-old that they aren’t allowed to play with any of the cool stuff.

      Tom sat in front of the large LED screen and turned it on, the surround-sound kicked in and the whole room came alive. Adrian knew the TV was too big for the room, but he also knew it would win him brownie points so he bought it anyway.

      ‘Have you got “Zombie Flesh Hunters 2”?’

      ‘That’s an eighteen.’

      ‘All my friends play it, they’ll probably all be online today, I won’t tell Mum, I promise.’

      ‘Well, you’ve only got two hours before I have to go to work,’ Adrian said.

      ‘For fuck’s sake!’

      ‘Tom!’ Adrian shouted, the loudness of his voice rang through him and he took a deep breath, his son stared at him wide eyed. He felt the ghost of his father standing behind him. He shook it off. ‘Just watch your language, please, mate.’

      ‘I’m not your mate,’ Tom hissed.

      Adrian opened the cupboard and tossed the game to Tom, seeing the hint of victory in Tom’s hidden smile. Adrian left the room, he hated raising his voice, but even more than that he hated being played.

      All traces of Adrian’s house guest had gone from the bedroom, the only evidence she had been there was that the bed was made and Adrian’s clothes were in the basket instead of on the floor. Even this small deed made him feel trapped. Fear of commitment was an understatement. In Adrian’s case, it was a phobia. When Andrea had left him and taken his son he promised himself he would never put himself in that situation again, it was as though his heart had been ripped out. Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost clearly had no fucking idea what they were talking about. In the bathroom Adrian looked in the mirror again. He checked his eyes weren’t still bloodshot. As it had been six months since he had been allowed on the premises he probably shouldn’t go back to work looking like a drunk, not after the way he had left – or been asked to leave. Last night he had needed the Dutch courage though and so he drank, he met a woman. It was the same old story, just a different night. He got in the shower; he could hear the blood-curdling screams and shotgun blasts through the floor as he washed away his hangover and whatever remained of his interlude.

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