28April
Its been two years since everything fell apart. Two years of a life that once held a wife, a child, a house in Surrey, and plans for the future. Now theres nothing but the ache of loss, a hollow that refuses to settle. If I could turn back that cursed day, Id move mountains to stop it from happening. If only
For the first time in two years I found myself hurrying toward the oppressive silence of the empty cottage on the edge of town. At last I could settle the score for Emilys death. I meant to stop at the offlicence for a bottle of whisky, then changed my mind. Revenge demands a clear head. I went to bed early and, surprisingly, fell asleep quickly. Two hours later I woke, heart hammering, lungs clawing for air. In the darkness I could still hear Emilys breathing beside me, as if she were there, waiting for me to open my eyes. But the pillow lay untouched. I fell back asleep.
My hand brushed the sheet; it warmed under my fingers, giving the fleeting illusion that Emily had been there a heartbeat before I awoke. Sleep eluded me again. I lay staring at the pale ceiling, remembering the twoyear wait for vengeance, the endless yearning. The enemy had returnedI knew it.
On that illfated morning Emily asked for leave at work and went to the local GP for an ultrasound. Shed been trying for a baby for years, losing faith in pregnancy tests after too many false hopes. The waiting had been cruel.
She stood at the curb, the green walk man flashing across the road. She stepped onto the zebra crossing, unaware of the car hurtling toward her, trying to beat the tide of pedestrians. A cyclist on the opposite side was about to collide with the same vehicle. The driver swerved right, sending the car into Emily. She was killed instantly.
The driver received a twoyear community sentence. The cyclist walked away with bruises. Doctors later declared Emily wasnt pregnant after all.
My enemy lives now, with his wife and son, while I have nothing leftno hope, no purpose. Ive decided I will kill the man who took Emily, to pour all the engines power into one final blow. Let his family feel what I have felt. I wont hide or run; Ill face it even if it costs me my own life. I died with Emily two years ago; the wait for revenge isnt living.
Sometimes I drive to that crossroads where Emily fell, buying bouquets and leaving them at the curb. Passersby glance but keep walking. I stand there, trying to imagine what Emily thought in those last secondsperhaps she hoped for good news, took a final breath, and stepped onto the crossing
Ive visited her grave, prayed in the church, but none of it eases the ache. Only vengeance might set me free.
Exhausted, I rose, took a hot shower, shaved carefully, and ate a stale sandwich with tea, staring at the stain on the wall where Emily had planned to rehang wallpaper. I left it; the blot is now part of my memory. I slipped on a clean shirt, cast one last glance at the empty room, and wondered if Id ever return.
At first I drifted around town, killing time. Too earlymy enemy is still lounging on fresh sheets beside his wife, or perhaps hes already up, stretching, shuffling to the bathroom, scratching his leg just below his shorts. He finished his business, yawned, showered. My own wife has already prepared breakfast. I imagine stepping out of the bathroom, scented with shower gel, kissing her, sitting opposite my son at the table Enough, I told myself, the enemy looks too spotless. The man who killed my wife cant be that neat.
I pictured the enemy the night before, drinking heavily to make up for the two missed years. He wakes with a pounding head and a savage thirst, gulps water straight from the tap as he would in a prison cell, skips shaving, sits at the table in his boxers and Tshirt. Now thats more like it, I thought. Hes a proper target.
I turned the car around and drove toward his house. I parked so I could see the driveway. Two children played on the front garden swing set. I waited. Sooner or later the enemy would emerge, alone or with his familyit mattered not. If not today, then next time revenge would find him.
It was late April. Fresh buds pushed through the hedges on the sunny side of the yard. The pavement was still damp from last nights rain, the sky heavy with clouds, a chill in the air.
A boy, about six, burst from the front door and raced to the playground, then stopped, eyes fixed on my old Land Rover. Maybe hes the enemys son? I muttered, lowering the window.
What do you want, lad? I asked.
Nothing, he replied, staring straight at me, unafraid. My dad also had a car, not as fancy as yours.
And wheres it now? Sold? I tried to coax information.
Broken in an accident. Havent bought a new one yet. He shrugged.
I studied his face, hoping to see a glimpse of my foe, but found none. Perhaps he resembled his mother, whom I could not recall. The enemys features were etched in my mind. A few raindrops clattered on the windscreen.
Want a seat? Youll get wet if you stay out, I offered, opening the passenger door.
He hesitated, then, as the rain intensified, climbed in and shut the door. The sound of the downpour was muted inside. His eyes lit up at the redglowing dashboard.
Do the seats heat up? Must eat a lot of petrol, huh? he asked, sounding older than his years.
I answered each question gladly, feeling odd answering a child while the yard was empty.
Shall we take a spin? The rains still falling, I suggested.
He gave me a sideways glance.
If you dont want that, we can just sit, I said aloud, thinking how brave and clever he seemed.
Mom will be angry, he muttered. She doesnt have time for me.
He glanced at me again, then said, Only a little while.
I drove away, wondering if anyone had seen us. Children dont care about car makes or licence plates. A thought of an old saying crossed my mind: the best revenge is to take away what the offender loves. The decision seemed to settle itself.
Whats your name? I asked.
Freddie, he replied eagerly.
Freddie? Were namesakes then. Im David as well.
I told myself I wouldnt kill himhe was innocent. The enemy, that was another matter. I could drive him far away, leave him stranded. Hed search for his son, suffer.
Freddies voice cut through my thoughts.
What? I asked.
I said my dad didnt hit that woman. It was my mum driving. Dad was in the passenger seat.
What woman? A cold shiver ran down my spine.
My mum shed never survive prison. Shes ill, spends most of her time in hospital.
How do you know? I asked.
Im not a fool. I heard them whisper. Mum even told me herself.
Heat rose in my chest. My palms clenched the steering wheel hard.
Why tell me? I demanded. Should I go to the police?
My dads already done time. Can you be jailed twice for the same crime?
Probably not, I forced a smile.
I hadnt realized Id left the suburb. The road was slick, the lines of the wet asphalt marching beneath the wheels.
Where are we going? Freddie asked, a hint of fear in his voice.
Thinking, I replied, pulling over, lowering the window, letting the fresh air wash over my face. The roar of passing cars grew louder.
Are you okay? his voice trembled, but his eyes seemed to understand, and my chest tightened again.
Does he really understand? Can a child feel what I feel? I thought, turning the car around and heading back into town.
Emily cant be brought back. The driver took his wifes blame and served his time. Who now deserves my vengeance? Emilys own liver was failing; she wont live much longer anyway. Freddie talked about his mothers single kidney failing. What about me? Id decided to take revenge on an innocent boy
Who did you stay with when your mum was in hospital? I asked.
My granny. Her hearts weak. She never liked my mum.
I watched the wet ribbon of road stretch ahead as the rain ceased.
How old are you? Freddie asked.
Seven. Ill start school in September. Do you have kids? I shivered at the questionhow to tell a child Id once longed for a son of my own?
He smiled. If your dad ever gets a new car, let him have it. Its a good one.
Thanks. Goodbye, he said, his voice bright as the car door slammed.
I drove out of the driveway, bought a bottle of whisky at the corner shop, and sat on the riverbanks damp grass, drinking straight from the bottle. The liquid burned my throat, and I lay back, staring at the sky as clouds broke and blue appeared.
A hoarse voice called, Hey, mate, you catching a chill? Two teenagers stood over me. Id fallen asleep. I leapt up, staggered to the car.
Hey, want a drink? one shouted.
Its too early for that, I snapped, picking up the nowhalfempty bottle.
A string of curses rose behind me, but I didnt look back.
I got into the car and drove home. For the first time in two years, I felt a sliver of freedom.
Lord, I almost did something terrible. Thank you you kept me from it. I wish Id had a son I whispered, tears blurring the road ahead.
Revenge, I realise, is just living for the very person you despise. When you chase it, you waste the only life you have on someone elseon the enemy. Even if you win, you lose yourself.