Chapter 4 - Andrew Comes Back

Andrew is drawn back to his old town, hoping to put his demons to rest.

Andrew Boyle was lying on the leather sofa with his arm over his eyes. Dr Trent had asked him a question but he'd missed it. "Sorry?" he asked, lifting his arm an immediately regretting it as the low sun streaming through the office window blinded him.

"I asked how you've been this week. How are things at home?"

Andrew sighed, wondering what would happen if he ever gave an honest answer. You can't get the kid's face out of your mind. It's funny really, his surprised look tattooed forever on the inside of your eye sockets so every time you close your eyes, there he is. Like a watermark on reality itself. He's there now, not looking shocked, not upset, just surprised. What else? Someone dropped a bottle of wine in the supermarket and the noise of it shattering sent you diving for cover amongst the tins of beans before you could stop yourself. Oh and you nearly killed your wife. You choked her, had your hands round her neck and throttled her in bed when she tried to wake you in the middle of another screaming nightmare. Your life is an endless living hell and nobody gives a flying f**k. You get sent to talk to this moron in a check shirt while he yawn behind his hand and glances at the clock to see how long before he can get your out of here and go for lunch. You f*****g despise him but not as much as you despise yourself.

"Andrew?"

"I'm doing okay."

"How are you sleeping? Are the new pills helping at all?"

"A little."

"Well keep taking them. Have you thought anymore about taking that holiday we talked about?"

Nope, I've thought about the kid's face and the look in my wife's eyes when I woke up and realised what I was doing to the woman I love. "I don't know."

Dr Trent rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Andrew, I've been treating you for three months now and I think I know you quite well by now, wouldn't you agree?"

He continued talking but Andrew had stopped listening. You could reach over and kill him in a second. Just snap his neck and sit back down without even breaking into a sweat. You kind of want to as well don't you? That's the fucked up part. It'd wipe that smile off his face too.

"Still with me Andrew? Not fallen asleep on there?"

He sat up and swung his legs down onto the floor. "I'm awake."

Trent picked up his nameplate from the desk �" Dr Malcolm Trent PhD �" and wiped it with a soft cloth as he spoke. "I think you should go. What does Caroline think?"

"We're...we're no longer together." His ears filled with the noise of her gasps as she fought to pry his fingers from round her neck. The scarf she'd worn the next day to hide the ugly bruises that formed. Sleeping on the single bed in the spare room, wanting the fear in her eyes to go away. Wishing he could take it back, take it all back.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Trent scrawled something on his notepad before continuing. "How do you feel about it?"

Her mouth open, trying to speak, hands on his, trying to pry his fingers loose, the purple colour of her face pressed against the pillow. "I don't know."

"Well we have thirty minutes left. We really should talk about something."

There was a silence. A long silence. Trent cracked first. He always did. "I think a holiday might do you some good. Give you both some space. Forget about things for a while."

Of course you think that. You'd be glad if I never came back. And what kind of doctor tells you to forget everything? If I could do that I wouldn't still be coming here would I?

Andrew stood up. Trent blinked up at him, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Going somewhere Andrew?"

"Are we done?" He clenched his fists behind his back, trying his best to avoid knocking the good doctor backwards off his chair.

"We have until 12."

Andrew left the office without looking back. He walked out of the building, doing a double take as he passed a bus stop. Plastered on one side was an advertisement for the new Dan Curzon album, Death by Killing. Christ on a bike, I haven't listened to him since-

He was back in his bedroom in his parents' Victorian terrace. His tape player was half buried under a pile of cassette cases, each one lovingly labelled with his own handwritten track listings. Music had always been his refuge from the world and he was holding Shangri La itself in his hands, Nightmares and Midnight Bombings. Curzon’s second album. It wasn't just the music that held him in awe as he looked reverently down at the jagged handwriting across the tape's label. This tape belonged to Caroline Watson, the girl he'd worshipped longer than Curzon.

Her hands had touched this tape. Her breath had fallen on the plastic he was allowed to hold. She'd let him borrow it, a throwaway gesture for her but one that had cemented his infatuation. Gingerly he carried it to the cassette player, afraid it would shatter into a million pieces if he dropped it. He loaded the tape and pressed play, lying on his back on his bed and staring at the ceiling as the first thundering track blasted out.

The sound had barely begun before he was dreaming of Caroline. They were watching Curzon at the Spa, squashed together at the front by the heaving mass of screaming fans surging forwards as their hero appeared on stage. Caroline was buffeted by them, all with wandering hands over her terrified body. He started to panic. Andrew the hero turns on them, Kung fu kicks one, knock out punches another, takes Caroline by the hand.

"Come on. We'll go meet the band backstage. They're friends of mine."

"Oh my hero," Caroline said, holding her hand to her chest before planting a kiss on his cheek. The two of them walk hand in hand to a nondescript door beside the stage, the mass of people parting like the Red Sea before this powerful warrior. The bouncer scowls before realising who it is. "Andrew, good to see you. Sorry love, can't let you back there."

"It's all right," Andrew replied. "She's with me." The door opened and the two of them were backstage in a dark corridor, Caroline looking up at him. "Andrew, I've been wanting to say this for a long time. I...I think I love you-"

A horn blared and the memory vanished. Andrew looked round to see a car swerve round him as he leapt backwards to the safety of the pavement. Lost in his daydream he'd wandered straight into the road. Trent's words came back to him. Maybe he could use a holiday. Perhaps a trip to the seaside might do him some good, breathe in that North Sea air that froze the lungs and healed the soul. Maybe it'd give him a chance to sort his head out before he killed someone.

That night he hummed Curzon's debut hit, Bloodbath to himself as he packed his suitcase, Caroline stood watching him from the landing, scarf still round her neck, flanked by her two brothers. He clicked the case closed and stood up. "Look, Caroline I-"

David stepped forwards, hand held out in front of him. "Don't you think you've done enough damage Andrew? She doesn't want to talk to you. Just go."

Andrew looked at the hand looming towards his chest. He thought about flicking it backwards until it snapped, breaking the b*****d's arm. The familiar rage bubbled up inside him but then he looked at Caroline's face and it drained away as quickly as it had come. “Bye then," he said, picking up the case and walking downstairs, not daring to look back.

He stopped his car at the first petrol station he saw, buying an atlas and flicking through the pages, choosing where to go. A name caught his eye and he realised that by chance Seaford was on the edge of the page he was looking at. He'd not been there for - he worked it out in his head - 15 years. He shrugged and closed the atlas. It was as good a place as ever. How far was it from here to Seaford?

He stopped at the last services before the motorway ended and bought a coffee that he didn’t drink, sitting at the table, drowning in memories of his last tour. Getting up again he noticed someone looking at him, a woman, smiling politely as he stared back at her. He managed a nod, knowing her smile would soon turn to disgust if she knew what he’d done, what he was capable of.

He passed the 'Seaford 10 miles' sign without seeing it, driving on automatic, making his way back to his home town without really thinking about it. He almost didn't see the car until it was too late. At the last second he noticed the flashing hazard lights and hit the brakes, skidding to a halt inches from the rear bumper of the other vehicle. As he climbed out he heard a twig snap by the hedgerow, drawing his attention.

He was still looking at the field when the other car's door opened and a woman leapt out, throwing her arms round him before he even had a chance to react. Taken by surprise, never thought that would happen.

"Oh thank God," the woman said, stepping back from him. "Oh, it's you."

"Sorry?" Andrew was still tense, wanting to know what was in the hedge. He forced himself to look at the woman in front of him, her face lit by the headlights of his car.

"I saw you. At the services. You looked-" She stopped herself. "Jesus Christ, is that-? It is isn't it? I thought it was. It is you. Andrew Boyle!"

He examined her more closely. How does she know you? He took away her age lines, the change of hair colour and style. "F**k me, Marie Summers?" There was a noise to his left and he looked at the field again, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. What was out there? "You're on your own?"

"Yes but-"

"Hold on." He jogged round to his boot, surprised to find Marie remained glued to his side, nervously glancing round her and biting the corner of her thumb nail.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asked as he rummaged in his boot, pulling out a torch and switching it on, sending a piercing white beam across the road.

"I think I broke down?"

"You think?" He shone the torch into the hedgerow, the beam sweeping slowly from left to right. "Don't you know?" He went to stick his head into the hedgerow but Marie grabbed him.

"Don't!"

"Don't what?"

"I think he's out there." Her voice was lower, whispering almost as she grabbed Andrew's arm and refused to let go.

"Who's out there?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Oh nothing. Never mind."

"Listen, do you want me to have a quick look at your car?"

"What? Oh, right. You don't mind?"

"No I'm going to leave you here all night on your own." He walked round to the bonnet and shone the torch inside. "Try the engine."

She turned the key. Nothing.

"I think I see it." He leaned further inside, his cheek warmed by the still hot radiator. "Your timing belt's snapped."

"Can you fix it?" She thought about the door handle rattling, almost able to convince herself it was paranoia. When Andrew's lights had lit up the side of her car the figure was nothing but the shadow of the tree behind her car. That was all. There hadn't been anyone there. She'd been wrong. He wasn't there. But if that was the case why did she feel like a pair of eyes were staring at her right now. Part of her wanted to tell him, make him remember too so she wasn't carrying the burden on her own. But she couldn't do that to him. He clearly had enough weight on his shoulders, let him carry on for a while. He’d remember soon enough and by then hopefully they'd both be out of here.

The bonnet slammed shut, interrupting her thoughts. "The engine's fucked," Andrew said. "It'll have bent the cylinders."

"Oh." She felt tears welling up again.

"Listen, why don't I give you a lift? Where're you going?"

"Where else?"

"No s**t. You're going home too. Well hop in, it'll be just like old times. If only we had a few joints in the glove box.”

"As long as you're not still listening to Dan Curzon. God, you were obsessed with that twat."

The two of them climbed into Andrew's car. "He wasn't that bad."

"Yeah right. Besides you only liked him because Caroline did."

They left Marie's car with its hazard lights flashing and set off towards Seaford. In the darkness next to the car a twig snapped, the sound easily lost amongst the howling wind of an oncoming storm the like of which Seaford had never seen before.