first published in the Autumn 2023 edition of Scribble, Park Publications
Bruce shifted in his electric wheelchair, surprised at the time. He closed his laptop and grimaced. Jaz would soon be limping upstairs – which leg would it be today? – kindly offering to make him something masquerading as a sandwich.
Bruce reversed slightly and reached down to retrieve his DSLR camera from a drawer in a small cabinet under the table. The large, south-facing bay window of his bedroom was perfectly situated either to continue his ‘photography tips’ blog or to admire and sometimes photograph the subtle daily wonders of nature. As Bruce peered through his camera across the nearby playing field, his concentration was broken by heavy, uneven footsteps climbing the creaky staircase, now limping along the landing. He switched off the camera and returned it to the drawer.
Jaz rapped on the door and, before waiting for an answer, hobbled in.
Bruce watched the tall, heavy-set figure approach. ‘Don’t worry about lunch for me today, thanks Jaz,’ Bruce said, forcing a smile. ‘I bought a sandwich this morning.’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Jaz. ‘I’ll nip out then. Mick wants a natter anyway. See you later.’ Bruce watched him limp out of the room. Surely, he was limping on the other leg when he came in.
While Bruce ate his sandwiches, his notion of Jaz’s masterplan returned, threatening Bruce with indigestion. All Jaz wanted was for Bruce to pop his clogs. Bruce was under no illusions as to Jaz’s hasty acceptance of Dana’s invitation to move in with them seven months ago. What Dana saw in him was bewildering. What he saw in her was obvious.
Although Bruce was gradually adjusting to life without his wife, Dana losing her mother so young created unexpected worries for him. For one thing, he would have to devise, with the utmost delicacy, how to expose to his mesmerised daughter the wolf that has inveigled his way into her life, tantalised by what he envisaged would eventually be her sizeable inheritance. And why was Jaz still off work? He manages the stairs, plays football with his son every weekend, and as for that ridiculous limp – poor Dana’s so tired from work that she doesn’t notice which leg it is from one day to the next. But all that stress he bleats about. Difficult to disprove.
That evening, when Bruce heard the front door opening, he went downstairs on the wheelchair-friendly stairlift. After falling down a flight of steps during a wedding photography shoot, the compensation he received helped to cushion his resulting business losses and fund practical adjustments in his home, but no amount of money could restore his previous quality of life.
As Bruce reached the bottom of the staircase, Dana greeted him.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hello, darling,’ Bruce said, smiling. ‘How were the youngsters today?’ Bruce knew Dana would have had a hard day’s teaching.
‘All good thanks. Well, as good as teenagers can be. How’ve you been?’
‘Oh, fine, thanks; just researching the demand for old film cameras. Might sell mine.’
‘Really? I’ve heard there’s quite a demand for old stuff now,’ Dana said.
‘I hope so. But I’m keeping my digital cameras. Amazing what you can do with them.’
‘If you know how,’ Dana smiled. ‘Anyway, time to do dinner. I thought I’d make lasagne.’
‘Mmm. I’ll help.’
Within an hour, dinner was ready. Dana called Jaz while Bruce poured Merlot into three glasses.
Jaz limped into the kitchen, slumped into a chair at the table, and gulped some wine. He took the serving spoon and piled his plate with lasagne. Bruce watched him start devouring the food. ‘What’ve you been doing, Jaz, while we’ve been cooking?’ he asked.
‘Besides starving?’ Jaz laughed. ‘Fiddling about with that old telly. The sound’s knackered. Need a new one.’
Dana was puzzled. ‘I can hear it okay. Can you, Dad?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Bruce, wondering what Jaz was up to.
‘Well, I can’t,’ said Jaz, ‘but don’t panic – I’ll pay for it.’
‘You?’ Bruce was incredulous. ‘Are you going back to work?’
Jaz shook his head as he broke into a cunning smile. ‘I’m expecting some – er – good news,’ he said, emphasising the words while making quotation marks in the air with his forefingers.
Bruce and Dana looked at him, expectantly.
‘Compensation.’ Jaz spoke the word slowly, emphasising each syllable.
‘At last,’ said Dana.
‘Yep,’ said Jaz. ‘Quite right, too. All my injuries. Not my fault. Employer coughs.’
‘When did you hear this?’ Dana asked.
‘This morning, Brief emailed me. Seventy grand.’
Bruce, who had just sipped his wine, spluttered slightly.
Dana’s eyes widened. ‘Seventy thousand pounds?’
‘Yep! All those lost wages for when I couldn’t work after the accident. And my injuries – wasn’t only my leg.’ He continued slowly: ‘Post-traumatic stress.’
Post-traumatic fraud, thought Bruce.
‘So, what happens now?’ asked Dana.
‘I get the dough soon then I’ll be working with Mick in his new business. Nothing stressful, obviously,’ Jaz said, looking serious. Dana got up and hugged him. Bruce noticed an almost imperceptible smirk flit across his face as Dana kissed his cheek.
*
After dinner, Bruce returned to his room, saying he was going to continue his film camera research. Knowing the compensation process from his own accident, it wasn’t unfair to suspect Jaz of pursuing a long, cunning and persuasive ruse to be offered that amount of compensation. As Bruce switched on his computer, he realised he had forgotten to make his usual cup of peppermint tea. He went downstairs and, as he passed the sitting room door, he heard Jaz and Dana talking. The television didn’t seem to be on. Not usually an eavesdropper, Bruce’s attention was caught by Jaz’s serious voice.
‘So, is seventy grand enough, d’you think?’ Jaz asked.
‘Enough? It’s colossal! But are you seriously stressed?’ Dana sounded concerned.
‘Stressed? I’m ecstatic!’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘Relief? It’s effing brilliant!’ Jaz exclaimed. ‘You don’t know the half of what I had to do to convince that insurance quack about my stress, how I hobbled around and squealed like a baby when he bent my leg.’ Jaz laughed before continuing: ‘My brief said that post-trauma thing’s common after an accident. Totally legit. Mick’s just waiting for me to get my money, then we’ll be business partners.’
‘Really?’
Jaz sighed. ‘Yes, really. I’m gonna invest in his new roofing set-up.’
‘But your leg—’
‘Nothing wrong with my leg. Look,’ Jaz said, standing up, crouching down and running on the spot to prove it. ‘Strong as ever.’
‘But you still limp. Even Dad notices. He’s worried.’
‘Well, he needn’t be. I have to keep the limp up for all that compo coming. Got it off to a fine art, don’t you think?’ he said, grinning and rubbing his hands together.
‘I wondered how you managed to kick the ball around with Todd,’ said Dana.
‘Yeah, well. Don’t wanna look done-in with the young lad.’
Bruce had heard enough. Having been stock-still in his wheelchair outside the sitting room door, his heart pounded against his ribs in a thumping rage. Trying to control his fury, he wheeled to the kitchen, poured himself a small Scotch and swallowed it in one gulp. He made the tea, took it to his room and sat at the table, incensed by Jaz’s abuse of Dana’s naïve and trusting nature, recklessly dragging her into his criminal enterprise.
Where was justice, that omniscient, universal adjudicator, when it was needed? He stared out into the darkness. The clear sky sparkled with ancient stars, those timeless witnesses to everything – to our thoughts, our words, our deeds, and everything in between. How they must despair as they gaze with horror at our casual ingratitude and wickedness.
*
On Sunday morning, Jaz limped off for his usual weekly kickabout with his son, Todd, on the playing field near Bruce’s house. After he left, Bruce wheeled into the kitchen.
‘Are you okay for a short time, darling, or can I help do lunch?’
‘It’s okay, thanks, Dad. You go and enjoy yourself with your friends.’
‘I’ve just seen Jaz go. It’s great he can manage playing footie with Todd.’
Dana hesitated. ‘Oh, well, he tries to conceal his pain from Todd – doesn’t want the lad to see him struggling.’
‘That’s brave. Well, phone me if you need anything. Bye, darling.’ Bruce picked up a small, zipped bag containing his camera and tripod, and left. He wheeled to the pavement then along the path around the perimeter of the field, admiring the delicate spring foliage of the surrounding shrubs and trees. He reached a house on the opposite side of the field to his own and, before he could knock on the door, it opened. Standing in the doorway was a man, a little older than Bruce, smiling conspiratorially as he gestured for Bruce to come in.
‘Very good of you, Bob,’ said Bruce.
‘Not at all,’ Bob replied, closing the door. ‘What are friends for? You go up to the study and I’ll bring us some coffee. I checked the lift myself, today.’
Bruce went to the foot of the stairs where a wheelchair lift was waiting. Having been impressed with Bruce’s, Bob had had one installed for his now late wife.
Bruce entered the study and positioned himself facing the window giving an unobstructed view of the field. He set his camera on the tripod and opened the window just wide enough for the camera lens not to be obstructed. Bob came in bearing a tray of coffee, biscuits, and a pair of binoculars, and set it down on the desk. He drew a chair up next to Bruce.
‘So, he left as usual?’ Bob surmised.
‘Just before me. Limping for England.’ They both laughed.
After a few minutes, Jaz, Todd, and Jaz’s estranged wife, Jules – Todd’s mother – walked to the edge of the field. Bruce focused the camera, muted the sound, and pressed the record button. Todd started kicking the ball around the field while Jaz embraced Jules and kissed her. And kept on kissing her before they settled on a wooden bench nearby – manifestly not a couple estranged.
‘Not sure I’d’ve been that friendly with my ex,’ said Bob, peering through his binoculars.
‘They’ve been at it for months.’
Noticing Todd looking bored, Jaz planted a smacking kiss on Jules’s lips, jogged across to Todd, and dribbled the ball away from him. As Todd and Jaz kicked the ball around, Jaz proved his prowess without any sign of discomfort. After almost an hour, Jaz embraced and kissed Jules before they parted.
Bruce checked the footage, thanked Bob, and returned home. After lunch, he went to his room, took two memory sticks from a drawer, and plugged them into his computer. Ten minutes later, he labelled one stick with a number and attached a short, typewritten note to it. He took two padded envelopes, addressed them, and sealed one stick in each.
The next morning, after Dana left for work, Bruce transferred himself to his mobility scooter and set off for the Post Office.
*
The following Thursday morning, after Bruce returned with the daily paper, he heard Jaz shouting on the phone from the sitting room.
‘What the hell d’ya mean?’ Jaz bellowed. ‘Okay, okay! Three o’clock.’
Bruce went to the kitchen and half-filled the kettle. Jaz stormed in.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ Bruce observed the genuine anxiety on Jaz’s face.
‘Yeah, ta.’
‘How’s that gammy leg of yours?’ said Bruce. ‘Must be a pain. I remember the feeling like it was yesterday.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it. But that’s what compo’s for, as you’ll know yourself.’
‘I do, but it didn’t give me back the use of my legs. Still, you’ll be relieved when your claim’s over.’
‘Yeah. Brief wants to see me at three today.’
‘Oh? Formalities, probably.’
‘Yeah, loose ends.’
*
While Jaz was with his solicitor, Dana was sitting in the school staff room watching a video she had received anonymously earlier that day, addressed to her at the school. A teacher friend sitting with her comforted her as anger and humiliation brought tears trickling down her cheeks. Jaz, Jules, Todd. His beloved happy family.
‘It’s best you know what he’s really like,’ the friend said. Dana nodded.
On her way home, Dana detoured to Jules’ home, expecting to see Jaz’s car parked outside. To her surprise, she saw what she recognised as the van belonging to Mick, Jaz’s work partner. She parked far enough away not to be recognised. As she wondered why Mick would be there, Jules’s door opened, and Mick emerged. He turned to face Jules, and they embraced and kissed. Dana grabbed her phone, focused its camera on Jules and Mick, and recorded for several seconds.
While driving home Dana recalled Jaz originally splitting up with Jules because of her affair with Mick. Maybe Jaz had lured Jules back with his compensation as the carrot, oblivious of her own long-term plans.
On arriving home, Dana found her father in the sitting room. Bruce instantly noticed Dana’s distress. Or perhaps anger.
‘What is it, darling?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, Dad. Have you seen Jaz?’
‘He said he was going to see Mick – something about a roofing job.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ve finally brushed off that rosy tint blurring my life for too long.’
After explaining to Bruce about the video she had received at school, Dana packed Jaz’s belongings into his holdall and some bin liners and left them on the front doorstep. She bolted the front door and arranged for a locksmith to change the lock in the morning.
*
Following the meeting with his solicitor, Jaz sat in his car, trying to control the volcano smouldering within him, threatening to erupt in a boiling rage. After learning the insurer had re-valued his claim at a measly one thousand, based on some vicious video, Jaz drove home in a blistering rage. Determined to identify his enemy, his thoughts scrambled through the possibilities of who both knew enough about his claim and held such a grudge against him, to betray him. That person now owed him sixty-nine thousand pounds.
After arriving home, he stormed to the front door, confused as to why bin bags and his holdall were outside. As he realised his belongings were spilling out of the bags, he tried unsuccessfully to open the front door. When Dana didn’t answer her phone, he threw the bags into his car, suspecting she had somehow found out about him and Jules. He would sort it out later after heading off earlier than planned to meet Mick at the site of the re-roofing contract.
Mick, who was standing on a scaffolding platform adjacent to the rooftop of an old, three-storey house, saw Jaz arrive. He called out: ‘Hey, Jaz! Great you’re early. Come up and have a look.’
Jaz climbed to the scaffolding platform to join Mick.
‘You see? Our new business starts here,’ Mick beamed, rubbing his hands. ‘That is, when you invest your compo, but that’s gonna be soon, isn’t it?’
Jaz tried to control his rising panic as he realised, from the dilapidated roof, what a lucrative future a roofing business could provide, had his compensation masterplan not been scuppered.
While Jaz tried to enthuse about their glowing business future, his phone pinged. He snatched it from his pocket and found a video from Dana with a message reading, ‘Your wife’s waiting...’
As he watched the footage of Jules and Mick, his face flushed and the volcano returned.
*
That evening, while Dana prepared dinner, the doorbell rang. Bruce opened the front door and found two police officers asking if he knew Jaz. Bruce explained that Jaz had lived here as his daughter’s partner, but they had argued earlier that day. The officers asked to come in, and Dana accompanied Bruce as he showed them into the sitting room. The officers explained there had been an incident on scaffolding earlier that afternoon, involving two men – Jaz, and a man called Mick.
‘Well, I hope you arrested Jaz,’ said Dana. ‘I’ve just found out what a lying waste of space he is.’
‘First, we need to establish what happened,’ said the female officer, sounding sombre. She continued in the same tone. ‘A woman walking her dog said she heard shouting from the top of a house. She looked up and saw two men fighting on a scaffolding platform. Apparently one of them stumbled against a scaffolding bar which broke away, resulting in the man falling to the ground.’
Bruce and Dana stared in horror at the officers.
The officer continued. ‘I’m sorry to inform you that the man who fell was Jaz. He survived, but with what we understand are life-changing injuries, including a broken neck.’
Dana gasped before holding her face in her hands. Bruce shuddered, grimacing.
*
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Dana had said, knowing her father felt responsible. ‘If anything, it was my video of Jules with Mick that sparked the fight.’
‘The three of them,’ said Bruce, ‘Jaz, Mick, Jules. Entangled in their selfish deceit. They themselves are responsible for the consequences.’
Despite Bruce and Dana absolving one another from blame, Bruce would find himself searching the darkness long into the night, in the clutch of his restless conscience. And the stars would blink, acknowledging his anguish in silence.
About the author
Melanie lives in south Hampshire, in a coastal village frequently battered by howling gales and the occasional mini tornado. A latecomer to fiction writing, two of her short stories – one, to her surprise, being a prize winner – have been published in Scribble magazine.
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