EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE
Mike stared out of
the bedroom window, watching the rivulets of rain cascading down the grubby
windows. He glanced at his watch. It was just gone twelve and it was Sunday, so
there would be no haircutting today.
He sighed deeply. It was too early to go to the pub, but he was bored rigid. He
cast a glance at his mobile, staring silently and accusingly at him from the
decrepit coffee table he had purchased from the second hand shop in
Southborough. He had been in this flat just over a week now, running away from
his immediate problems. At first he was stricken with guilt, abandoning Maggie
like that. But gradually he adapted to his situation and felt liberated and
congratulated himself on making a wise decision.
And it was only temporary, he told himself, until he could get his hands on
half the house money. Or maybe get Claire to see sense, and abandon her loony
religion and start over. He was beginning to feel homesick, for the past and
the security of family life.
His present situation filled him with despair. The euphemistically named
‘studio flat’ he had found in Rusthall was as gloomy as the grey, wet Sunday.
His bedsitter, to give it its proper name, was in an old Victorian house
containing eight or more flats that had been neglected over the past decade;
the paint on the building outside was shedding itself in great flakes and the
once-elegant windows were rotting. The house looked as if it was ready to be
condemned.
But the landlord had accepted his month’s rent in advance, and hadn’t made any
other demands, such as a deposit, and Mike felt relieved to live a life of
anonymity for a little while. Although he felt hurt that Maggie hadn’t
attempted to call him on his mobile. Not once. Almost as if he had ceased to
exist.
He thought about Craig and Mandy, and wondered how they would get on with
running the wine bar on their own. Somehow he doubted that they were up to it.
At least he had done the right thing as far as they were concerned. He had
visited the wine bar and informed them he was leaving Maggie, saying he just
couldn’t take any more. At first, he detected hostility in Maggie’s brother,
who had gone barging into the wine bar kitchen, almost as if he was trying to
stop himself from attacking Mike. Mandy threw Mike an apologetic glance before
dashing into the kitchen after her boyfriend. When they returned minutes later,
Craig seemed embarrassed, as though Mandy had spoken to him, perhaps explained
that it wasn’t Mike’s fault and nobody could control Maggie’s drinking.
They shook hands, parting on polite small talk, asking Mike about his flat. He
told them it was a miserable hole, unfurnished, and he didn’t even have a
television set. Mandy eyed him sympathetically, reached behind the counter and
handed him a paperback book which she said she had just finished, and he might
be glad of something to read in the evening.
Now, as Mike contemplated a walk round the corner to the White Hart, he picked
up the book instead, lay back on the second-hand single bed, and began to read,
promising himself a good few chapters before going to the pub.
*
Oblivious now to the rain, Bill stepped out into the street and made his way
back to the speakeasy. As he swung open the door, the music from the radio was
playing low and distant, like an eerie requiem, which accentuated the bar’s
solemn silence.
He approached Eagan’s table and was filled with horror at what he saw.
Blood formed great puddles on the floor like bright paint seeping slowly from a
can. He looked away. There was nothing he could do. There was no sense in
dwelling on the horror of the murder scene.
As he started to walk away, glancing quickly over the bar, he saw the bartender
lying face down in a puddle of blood, senselessly gunned down simply because he
was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Bill got outside quickly. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between
himself and the speakeasy. As he splashed through the heavy rain, he stopped
several times to collect himself, bending over like he had cramps in his
stomach.
He was trying to suppress an instinct to vomit. He induced saliva into his
mouth and swallowed, eventually overcoming the need to be sick, and struggled
on through the rain, his wet clothes clinging to his body.
He thought about his ex-partner, whose partnerships had been terminated twice
in as many minutes. Eagan had been stupid having an affair with a mobster’s
girl. But had he deserved to die over it? And what of the girl? She was just a
kid. Murdered simply because of one man’s damaged ego.
*
Mike stopped reading and glanced at his watch. It was now almost two o’clock and time to head for the pub, which was due to shut
at four. Afterwards, he would buy himself a sandwich at One-Stop, and come back
and finish the book, because he was keen to find out what happened to Willie
the Actor.
And then he could return to the pub for opening time at seven and catch up on
the gossip. He was keen to hear more about the attempted rape on the common.
When he first heard about it, alarm bells began ringing somewhere deep inside
his head, but he hadn’t quite worked out why that was.
A review of “Willie the Actor” can be read on the Cult TV website. Just
click on the homepage link.