The Angel. Katerina Diamond
had buttoned it wrong – he then looked at Charlie, his trousers hanging from his hips, shirt half untucked, no ambiguity about what had been going on.
‘Martina? What the fuck is going on?’
‘I’m so sorry, it’s Jamie, he stopped breathing!’
‘Are you coming with us, ma’am? We really need to get going. He was without oxygen for at least a couple of minutes, he needs to see one of the doctors ASAP,’ the paramedic’s voice was urgent. Martina saw panic flood her husband’s face.
‘No, I’ll come,’ he said, stepping in front of Martina as though she wasn’t even there.
‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!’ she cried, tears streaming down her face, knowing full well that he knew what she had done.
‘Mate …’ Charlie looked at his feet.
‘I’ll deal with both of you later!’ He clambered up into the ambulance and pulled the door shut.
Martina watched as the ambulance pulled away. Just at that moment Charlie’s son started to cry, a normal cry, a baby out in the snow cry. She couldn’t look at him. She ran back inside, slamming the door. She couldn’t let Charlie back in the house, not now.
The phone rang and Martina answered. It was her husband.
‘Is he OK?’
‘I want you out of the house by the time we get home. I never want to see your face again.’
‘But … it was an accident.’
‘I know what happened. I know what you did. It was obvious from the state of you both.’
‘I was lonely. I know it’s no excuse but since Jamie was born you have made me feel worthless. I just wanted to feel special for one night. I didn’t mean for that to happen, you must know I didn’t!’
‘And that makes it OK?’
‘No, of course it doesn’t.’
‘He’s in intensive care at the moment. I want you to know if he doesn’t pull through, your life won’t be worth living.’
‘Please …’
‘Both of you will wish you were dead.’ He put the phone down.
She knew that he wasn’t one to make idle threats, she had seen him do things that other women would have run a mile from. She knew a dark side of him that most people didn’t see. It had excited her at the beginning; the way some people would look when he walked into a pub or a club, the way people backed away from him and feared him. The time he had shoved a broken bottle into the face of a man in the street who was rude to Martina had been the moment she knew he was the one. No one had ever defended her like that before. He wouldn’t let this go.
She grabbed her Valium from the bathroom cabinet and a bottle of gin from the kitchen. She couldn’t live without her son, she couldn’t live knowing she hadn’t been there when he needed her the most, knowing that while her son lay almost lifeless in the room upstairs she was having a meaningless encounter with a man she wasn’t even particularly attracted to. Her husband had made it clear that she wouldn’t be a part of Jamie’s life anymore and so she took the pills one by one with a swig of gin. She was already fairly drunk from the wine at dinner, and it was an easy decision to make; barely a decision at all. She drifted away on her terms, wanting her husband to feel the pain of her loss. She wanted him to feel bad for speaking to her that way, she wanted him to feel as though he should have come home in time to wake her. She wanted him to feel like this was his fault. This time, she would have the last word.
2017
Gabriel Webb was a killer. He didn’t know it yet, but before the day was out he would know what it felt like to take someone’s life. He turned the music up in his bedroom to drown out the sound of his parents arguing about him. Apparently, he was ‘out of control’ and ‘needed to be taken in hand’. His mother had suggested sending him to live with an aunt in Cheltenham. His father had suggested forcing him to join the army, which ‘might show him how good he had it at home’. All this because Gabriel had shoulder-length hair and occasionally wore eyeliner.
He pulled on his red tartan punk trousers and leather New Rock boots, feeding the laces through the chrome shin panels on the front. Searching through his tops, he tried to decide which one to wear today, which one would be best for what they had planned. His phone beeped and he looked at the screen. An array of emojis all signifying excitement from his girlfriend Emma, listed in his phone as Proserpina, Roman Goddess and Queen of the underworld. He was in her phone as Pluto, the God of Death. Embracing darkness was part of the fun of being a goth. Tonight, they were going to see Apocalyptica, a nu-metal band, in a local club, a rare occurrence in Exeter now that the artisan hipster gin bars had all but taken over the city.
Gabriel pulled on his black wet-look cycling top; it hugged his lean muscular frame and he loved the way Emma looked at him when he was in it. He would catch her eyes resting on his chest as she swallowed hard, suppressing whatever desire his body aroused in her until they were alone. He grabbed the black buckled leather cincher out of his wardrobe and put it on, despite his parents’ voices echoing in his head. A man in a corset? Ridiculous. It wasn’t like it pulled his waist in or anything, it was just a fashion statement – not a nod to his sexuality. He couldn’t worry about what his parents thought though. His clothes were an expression of himself, for himself. It wasn’t about shocking anyone or even about rebelling. It was about feeling good in his skin, and this outfit made Gabriel feel good. He wrapped black electrical tape around his wrists and hands, then picked up the black eyeliner and drew a star on his left cheek. He was ready.
On entering the kitchen, his mother took a deep breath and turned her attention to the kitchen sink. Avoiding being a part of the conversation that was about to happen.
‘What the hell are you wearing?’ Michael Webb, Gabriel’s father, had an expression like thunder, but that wasn’t unusual, it was the standard greeting these days.
‘Clothes.’ Gabriel grabbed an apple and started to eat it. He had a foot on his father, but he was still uneasy. He wouldn’t say what he wanted to say, he never did. It was always better just to let his father rant and then leave anyway.
‘You’re a bloody man – when are you going to start acting like one?’ his father sniped. ‘Who’s going to employ you looking like that? You’re nineteen years old for God’s sake. Isn’t it time to grow up?’
‘A job like yours, you mean?’ Gabriel said. ‘I should be a drone?’
‘My drone job pays for those god-awful trousers you are wearing! I mean what the hell are all those straps and chain things hanging down? What kind of message do you think you’re putting across with those?’ His father tugged hard at the cord that linked the trousers together, ripping it. He looked at Gabriel with a sneer.
Gabriel smiled back with a pinched mouth. He was contemplating punching his father in the face – and not for the first time.
‘Anything else?’ He leaned down closer to his father, locking eyes with him – making sure he didn’t look away first.
The anger in his father’s eyes faltered for a moment.
‘Don’t even get me started on your face. Men don’t wear make-up, and what’s with the star? You look like a fucking communist.’
‘Michael! Language!’ Gabriel’s mother Penny said.
‘I’m off to meet some friends, I’ll probably stay out tonight.’ Gabriel walked out, shaking his head, his father’s insults getting fainter as he got further from the house. It was the most disrespectful he had ever been but he couldn’t tolerate this nonsense today. He was in a good