ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror Read online

  “-ful they’re hot.”

  Andrew looked up from the counter. “Huh?”

  The blond girl nodded to the plastic bag on the counter in front of them. “I said, careful they’re hot.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Was miles away then.”

  Andrew took the bagful of food from the girl, then thanked and paid her. Then he wandered towards the exit door. Before he got there, though, the blonde girl called after him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Andrew turned back around, wondering what it was about him that had caused the girl concern. Was it so obvious that he was rattled?

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just had a run in with a bunch of kids. Haven’t quite calmed down about it yet.”

  The girl’s face dropped. “You don’t mean Frankie Walker, do you?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Don’t know their names.”

  “Red beanie hat? Weird twitch?”

  Andrew nodded.

  The girl shook her head, wore a grim expression. “I’d be careful if I were you. He just got out of a youth offender’s home and he’s been pretty messed up ever since – in fact he was pretty messed up before.”

  Andrew huffed. “He’s just a boy. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.”

  “Just watch yourself, okay? I mean it; he’s a nasty-piece of work.”

  Andrew stood in the doorway and thought about it for a moment. It felt wrong to let a teenage boy worry him. England was a country where everyone had the right to be free, safe, and happy. No one had the right to take those things away from anybody else. The whole situation was infuriating.

  “What’s your name?” Andrew asked the girl behind the counter.

  “Charlie.”

  “Well, Charlie.” He did his best to smile. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I’ll be just fine. You take care yourself, though, okay?” He pulled open the exit door and stepped back into the cold.

  The world had gone fully dark now beyond the narrow cones of light from the streetlamps. The well-lit shopping area was like a beacon in a shadowy abyss. Andrew started his journey home. The warming aroma of hot chips and acrid vinegar made Andrew’s mouth water. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get back to his family and eat. It was a greasy, unhealthy dinner, but he could stand to put a few pounds on his slender frame anyway. Bit of junk food never hurt anybody. He picked up speed, hunger encouraging him onwards, seconded by the biting cold which seemed to get icier with every minute. There would likely be snow that year, maybe even a white Christmas, which would be nice. Bex had always loved snow at Christmas, ever since she was a sweet little child with cute woven pigtails. She must have only been five or six.

  Rounding the final corner before home, Andrew thought about the gang of teenagers again. It was surprising that his mind had briefly turned to other things, but it had been easier once he’s decided that this ‘Frankie’ was not going to intimidate him. Yet, despite choosing not to be afraid, it was still a relief when it turned out the gang had moved on. The street corner was now free of their presence and the cones of light from the streetlamps illuminated nothing more than the cracked and worn pavement of the road.

  Cowards. Didn’t have the guts to stay and go through with their threats.

  Andrew was just about to grin at his well-deserved vindication when he heard voices. He narrowed and his eyes and strained to see, seeking out bodies in the darkness. He ended up having to use his ears to hone in on the right direction. The voices were coming from several yards ahead, right outside his house.

  Andrew spotted the teenagers loitering around a bright-red car parked on the curb – it was Andrew’s Mercedes. The lad known as ‘Frankie’ was sitting on the softly-contoured bonnet of the luxury saloon and leaning back on his elbows, laughing.

  “Cretin!” Andrew almost spat the word as he marched across the street.

  Frankie spotted him approaching and waved merrily as if he had not a care in the world.

  Don’t you wave at me, you insolent little shit.

  “How’s it going?” said Frankie. His eyes narrowed beneath the brow of his beanie hat. “You got my fags?”

  Andrew stomped over to the group and this time felt none of the shock or anxiety which had plagued him during their earlier encounter. This time Andrew was angry - furious. “No, I haven’t got your goddamn cigarettes!” he yelled. “Now get your bony arse off my car.”

  Frankie did as he was told. He slid from the bonnet and then looked back behind him, admiring the vehicle. “Nice motor, mate. What is it, an SLK, yeah?”

  “Yes,” said Andrew. Impatience now enveloped every word that came out of his mouth. “Just step away from it, please. It’s brand new.”

  Frankie nodded his head and whistled. “You hear that everyone? Brand new Mercedes. Nice.”

  “Yeah, nice” agreed a young girl beside him. Her unkind face was caked in cheap, gaudy make-up and framed by streaky-blonde hair that looked two days overdue a wash. Her pale tits were practically hanging out of her halter top that she was wearing in spite of the chilly weather. “Thinks he’s well bling, innit,” she said, “with his flash motor. Thinks he’s got swag.”

  Andrew stared at the girl and shook his head. “Do you know how stupid you sound, young lady?”

  “Thinks his shit don’t stink,” added a Black kid, identical to a lad standing beside him. They were obviously twins, matching in both genetics and clothing; they wore the exact-same blue jeans and plain, white t-shirts.

  Are these kids impervious to cold weather or something?

  “I don’t think anything like that,” said Andrew. “I just think you should all respect other people’s property, and that pretty young girls should be home this time of night.”

  Andrew didn’t know why he used the word ‘pretty’, as the girl was anything but. It was meant only as a placating gesture, an attempt to stem the animosity. It seemed to do the opposite, though, and the girl scowled and spat at him.

  “Fucking Perv,” she said. “You’re a pedo, innit? A sick, child-banging pedo!”

  Andrew’s temper broke its bonds. “How dare you!” he snarled. “Show some bloody respect to your elders, you nasty little cow.”

  Frankie shot forward and pushed Andrew’s shoulder, jarring the plastic bag from his hand and spilling the chips all over the road. He moved forward again and poked Andrew hard in the chest, repeating the gesture with each word that came out of his mouth. “I…think…you…need…to…respect…me…”

  The sudden fright flooded Andrew’s system with a surge of adrenaline. His stomach turned over and he felt like he might throw up over the teenager’s shoes, but he would not allow such an indignity to take place. He had to man-up and not let the situation get to him. He had to be the adult here.

  I’m not going to be intimidated by this hooligan again. No way in hell.

  Andrew snarled right back into Frankie’s smug face, attempting to fight fire with fire. “Why the hell would I respect an idiot like you?” he spat. “You’re nothing but a pathetic bully trying to show off in front of your equally pathetic pals.”

  Frankie seemed to enjoy Andrew’s reaction. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the assembly of teenagers. All of them were laughing as they crowded around the Mercedes, their loose circle tightening around the entertaining spectacle of Frankie Walker V Andrew Goodman.

  “Now, now,” said Frankie in a voice so patronising that it sounded like he was trying to teach German to a guinea pig. “No need to get upset, mate. We’re just talking. In fact, it’s me that should be upset.”

  Andrew huffed. “Why, exactly, is that?”

  Frankie punched Andrew in the stomach. The sudden pain was excruciating; took his breath away so completely that it felt like he no longer had lungs. Breathing was impossible. Andrew fell to his knees.

  Frankie crouched down beside him. “I asked you for a pack of cigarettes and you just mugged me off – then you come and make pervy comments to my girlfriend. I
thought we were friends, but you’ve gone and hurt my feelings. That’s a really stupid thing to do.”

  Andrew couldn’t speak. The tightness in his chest and stomach seemed like it would never let up. Mortal panic clamped every cell of his body as he struggled to suck in even the tiniest morsel of oxygen. It felt like he was dying.

  Frankie straightened back up and kissed his bony fist like a trophy. “Come on, gangsters,” he said. “Let’s leave this piece of shit to eat his chips up off the floor. We’ll carry this on another day. Nice trainers by the way, mate. Got to get me a pair of those.”

  Andrew rolled onto his side and groaned as the teenagers left him on the floor. Gradually – very gradually – his breath came back to him in great heaving gasps. The noises coming from his throat sounded like a pod of distressed dolphins. Part of him wished for his family to run out and comfort him, but another part – a bigger part – made the thought of them seeing him like this intolerable. Andrew tried to get to his feet, using his palms against the floor to steady himself. He was badly shaken and felt sick – sicker than he’d ever felt – but his stomach just about managed to control itself. When he looked down at the scattered chips and mashed-up cod on the floor he realised he was crying. Several lonely tears crept down his cheeks and left freezing-cold trails behind them. He didn’t know if they’d been caused by the pain, the fear, shame, or humiliation. The fact that someone may have frightened him to tears made Andrew feel pathetic. The fact that it had been a mere teenager made him feel even more so.

  He lurched forward and heaved up the meagre contents of his near-empty stomach, coating the discarded chips on the floor in a hot broth of the undigested coffee and biscuits he’d eaten at lunch.

  Three minutes later, Andrew wiped his mouth and started the long, lonely journey up the path to his house. It no longer felt like home.

  Chapter Two

  Andrew sank down on the bench inside the porch and took several deep, painful breaths. Then he kicked off his trainers and just sat there for a while. He’d already hung up his coat and could have gone inside, but for some reason he just couldn’t. Something was holding him in place. It felt like his very presence inside the house would infect his family with something terrible.

  I’m too ashamed to face them.

  But I can’t stay here all night.

  No one had come out during the attack and that could only mean Pen and Bex hadn’t witness what had happened. It was a major relief to Andrew, but still didn’t change the fact that he’d just been assaulted.

  Do I call the police?

  Andrew’s mind was a muddle. He couldn’t think straight. In a lot of ways he’d not yet fully accepted reality to the point of resolution. The situation was still murky and unclear, but for now, he decided, he would will himself back to his feet and go inside the house. He wasn’t going to find any answers alone in the porch.

  He stepped through into the hallway. Pen was coming down the stairs. She wore her fluffy pink dressing gown and was rubbing at her hair with a towel. She’d obviously decided to fit in a quick shower while he’d gone to get the chips.

  Damn it! The chips… What do I say?

  “Hi, Hun,” Pen said, smiling. “You okay?”

  Andrew nodded. “Fine.”

  “Where’s the food?”

  “It’s…well it’s…”

  Pen placed a hand against his cheek. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Bloody chip shop had a problem with their fryers; had to close early. Wasted journey.”

  “That’s okay,” Pen said. She looked concerned; she knew something was up with him. “We’ll just order Chinese then, or something else. Whatever you fancy.”

  “Sounds good,” Andrew said. He felt like breaking down in her arms and sobbing right then and there, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  “Honey, you really don’t seem yourself. Has something happened?”

  Andrew shook his head and pushed her away. “Actually, I’ve just got a stomach-ache coming on, I think. I might just have a bath and go to bed. You and Bex eat without me, okay?”

  Pen frowned. “You said you’d watch a film with her.”

  Andrew started up the stairs. “Sorry for getting ill. I’ll try not to be so fucking inconsiderate next time.”

  There was no reply from behind him and Andrew knew it was because his wife was shocked. He was a mild-mannered man in general and outbursts were not his style – especially ones containing foul language.

  I shouldn’t take things out on her. She’s just concerned about me.

  Heck, I’m concerned about me.

  Andrew reached the top of the stairs and turned left towards the bathroom. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling the plastic-dolphin light-cord hanging beside his head. The bulb flickered on above him and hurt his eyes as its harsh glare reflected off the white wall-tiles. Somehow the pain in his retinas seemed to reactivate the pain in his abdomen and he suddenly doubled over. He dropped down to his knees and leant against the bathtub, reaching across and turning both taps on at once. He listened to the soothing gush of fresh water for a few seconds, then slipped the plug into the drain and let the tub fill up.

  Jesus, it feels like my ribs are broken.

  Once the bath was halfway-full, Andrew stood up and peeled off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror fixed to the back of the bathroom door and cringed at the deep-grey blemish of a developing bruise blooming on his torso. Gently, he ran a finger over the injury and pressed down slightly. The action was immediately met with a sharp, stabbing pain which radiated through his entire mid-section. Andrew’s stomach fluttered with approaching nausea and forced him to lean over the sink and take deep breaths. It took several minutes before his insides calmed down again.

  Hands shaking, Andrew unfastened his jeans and let them fall around his ankles; his underwear too. Then he stepped out of the clothes and pulled off his socks using his toes, unable to bend down and pull them off by hand. Once he was completely naked, he stepped over into the bath and gingerly lowered himself down. The warm water sent fresh stabs of pain through his ribs, but after a few seconds the discomfort subsided and was even alleviated slightly by the heat massaging his body. He slid back against the tub and placed his head down on the spongy bath pillow that Pen had needlessly brought on one of her shopping trips. He was grateful for it now, though, and the softness against the back of his skull made him feel sleepy.

  He would have to make up with Pen before he went to bed – apologise to her. Never going to bed on an argument was a wisdom he always abided by. Whether or not he shared with his wife why he snapped at her in the first place was something he’d not yet decided.

  Don’t want to worry her.

  But I don’t want to keep things from her either.

  Andrew used the toes of his left foot to turn off the hot water tap and then the cold one. He slid lower into the water, letting his chin touch the surface. If he could’ve, he would have gone completely under, accepting the warm and inviting embrace of the water like a protective womb. He settled for dunking his head under and soaking his hair. Wet, maple strands plastered his forehead when he came back up and he wiped them away with his hand. Relaxation approached at last, the tension flowing away into the bath water. Soon he would be able to think things through rationally – to decide whether or not he would call the police, confess to Pen, or just keep the whole thing to himself. With a calmer mind, Andrew could at least console himself that things would work out one way or another. He was a middle-classed citizen of the UK, not some impoverished Russian on the mean streets of Moscow. There was order and civility in Great Britain. Wretched little monsters like Frankie were punished for their crimes.

  He only just got out of a young offender’s home, for Christ’s sake. Is he planning on going straight back to an adult jail?

  A knock at the bathroom door.

  “Andrew?” It was Pen.

  Andrew
sighed, wishing that the water would swallow him whole. He still wasn’t ready to speak to her. But what choice did he have?

  “Andrew, I ordered you some food as well. Just in case you change your mind. I’m worried about you. Is your stomach-ache really bad?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew replied. “But I’ll try to eat something anyway. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

  There was a brief pause, then an answer. “That’s okay. We all get grouchy when we’re not very well.”

  Andrew suddenly felt very teary. His wife’s compassion was such a contrast to the animosity of earlier events that it sent his brain into an emotional tailspin. He fought back the tears and made himself smile. “I love you, Pen.”

  “I love you too, hun. I’ll see you downstairs, okay? That film is about to start and Rebecca wants you to watch it with her.”

  “Okay. Be right down.”

  Andrew leant forward in the bath and winced against the stiffness and pain in his ribs. He yanked the chain attached to the plug and listened to the gurgle as the drain began its suction. Then he lay back down and waited for the water to drain away around him, enjoying the sensual tickle of the water-level dropping against his skin.

  When the tub was finally empty, Andrew remained there for several more minutes, not wanting to move and face the chill of the air outside his ceramic cocoon.

  When he did find the willpower to get out of the bath, Andrew quickly grabbed a towel from the warming rail and wrapped it tightly around his waist. There was a hidden breeze in the room that nipped at his shoulder-blades and in the places the towel did not cover. He fought back a shiver and began drying himself, taking care not to be too rough around his ribs. There was no need adding to unnecessarily to the washing pile, so he gathered his clothes off the bathroom floor and decided to put them back on again. The jeans were comfortable and would be fine for sitting and watching a film. Perhaps he would get into pyjamas later, after dinner. He opened the bathroom door and stepped out.