Page 93 of Vengeance is Mine

Terry smiled and rose from the chair. He went over to the off-shot kitchen and filled the kettle. When he turned around, he jumped. He hadn’t heard his father come up behind him.

‘You won’t say anything to Barbara, will you?’ Ian asked. He looked worried.

‘No. Of course I won’t.’

‘Or Terry.’

‘Sorry?’ Terry frowned.

‘I don’t want Terry to find out. He used us as a career template. He looks up to us, Harry. It’ll break his heart if he knows what happened.’

Terry wanted to cry. There was an earnest look on his father’s face. He genuinely thought he was talking to Harry. This confusion and the memory blackouts couldn’t just be a result of the stroke, surely. Maybe he should have a word with the matron and have his dad tested for dementia. He hated seeing his father like this. The body and the mind were so incredibly fragile, and it was fucking cruel to see them crumble.

‘Your secret’s safe with me… Ian,’ Terry said, with a lump in his throat.

Chapter Forty-One

Anthony made himself beans on toast for tea. He wasn’t hungry, but he had to eat in order to take his pills. He turned off the television. He couldn’t stand early evening programmes. It was all quizzes and soaps.

He shuffled into the kitchen, turned on the light and pulled two slices of white bread out of the bread bin before slipping them into the toaster. He turned to the cupboard behind him for a small tin of baked beans, and something outside the window caught his eye. He stopped and looked out into the blackness. He couldn’t see anything. There were no cars on the road and no people around, yet he was sure he’d seen something.

Putting it down to a trick of the light, he returned to making his tea. He opened the can of beans and tipped them into a bowl. He put it in the microwave and timed it for two minutes.

While waiting for them to heat up, he put a plate and cutlery on a tray to take into the living room. He rarely sat at the dining table to eat. He didn’t see the point when it was just him to cater for. He had thought of getting rid of it, donate it to charity or something, but that would leave a huge gap on the far side of the room. It would make him feel even more lonely than he already did.

Something caught his eye again. He quickly turned to look. There was someone outside – he was sure of it. The doorbell rang.

Anthony hardly ever received visitors. Only Dawn and Rita, and they called first, so he knew to expect them. He tried to look out of the kitchen window without getting too close, so whoever was outside wouldn’t know he was in, but all he saw was his own reflection looking back at him.

The doorbell rang again.

He jumped. The toast popped up. He jumped again. The microwave beeped. His tea was ready, but he didn’t want to move.

Another knock on the door.

‘Shit,’ he said, under his breath.

He had to answer it. Whoever was out there knew he was inside. He should have had a security chain fitted, but he’d never felt vulnerable in his own home before… Not until now.

The doorbell rang again.

‘Shit,’ he said again. Tears were forming in his eyes.

Anthony dug in his cardigan pocket for the house keys. They jangled as he approached the door. He hadn’t realised how much he was shaking.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath as he turned the key and pulled open the door.

There wasn’t just one person standing on the doorstep but a whole group of people. Something flashed and blinded him. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was brilliant white light. He opened them and more flashing caused him to stagger back in confusion.

‘Mr Griffiths, what can you tell us about the murder of your son?’

‘Who would want him dead?’

‘Is it true you haven’t visited him since his release from prison, even though he only lived twenty minutes from here?’

‘Do you have anything to say to the parents of Stephanie White?’

The questions from the sea of journalists came in quick succession. They all held out mobile phones and recording devices to catch anything he said. More photographs were taken, momentarily lighting everything up in a brilliant, blinding white.

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