Rewire

by Marc Pye

Genres: General Fiction; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

Josh Strachan has it all. His own electrical business, a beautiful girlfriend and a monopoly on the electrical work in the sleepy Scottish village of Glen Leven. Until London electricians, Nathan and Karl, arrive to do a rewire on the psychiatric hospital. And one by one Josh starts to lose his business, his girlfriend, his friends ... and most importantly his mind. By wreaking revenge on the English outsiders, he ends up digging a hole for himself that even he can't get out of. Then bent copper PC Gordon who wants the outsiders out and has a vested interest in trying to protect Josh from the long arm of the law, knows this time Josh has gone too far.

Release date: January 30, 2014

Publisher: Sceptre

Print pages: 320

Sample

REWIRE

 

 

Nathan woke up with the noise coming from the hall. He knew it was Angie bouncing off the walls as she came up the stairs. He looked at the alarm clock: 6.13 a.m. He’d set it for six thirty and she was only just home from work. Her shift finished at two.

He heard the key scraping on the outside of the door as she tried to get it in the lock. ‘Fuck it.’ She banged on the door.

Nathan pulled the covers over his head, hoping she’d go away: he didn’t want to look at her stupid, drunken, haggard face ever again.

‘Naaaaathaaaaan! Open up!’ He swung his legs out of bed, grabbed the bedclothes in anger and tried to calm down. It wasn’t easy – he’d had enough of this: it was time to make a stand.

His friends, and especially his parents, had all warned him not to marry her. He thought it was because of the race thing – him having a white mum and a black dad and them not wanting him to have to face the same prejudice that they had. It was nothing to do with prejudice, more like gut feeling. Angie was a barmaid at the South London club, Juice, where Nathan and his mates went. A smile led to a chat, a chat led to some flirting, the flirting led to a night out, and the night out ended with him back at her place for the best sex he’d ever had. She was awesome. She reminded him of that model in her forties, Jilly Johnstone – gorgeous. Long blonde hair and an all-over tan.

She wasn’t the least bit inhibited and was willing to try anything. She badgered him to tell her what his fantasies were, and had no qualms about acting them out for him. She’d tie him to the bed and have him begging. She’d put music on and dance about in front of him, massaging herself with baby oil till she glistened all over. She’d tell him what she was going to do to him. How she was in control. She’d kneel over him and lick him from his head to his toes. She’d stand over him, caressing herself. He’d struggle against the ties, belts or whatever else she’d found to tie him up with. Finally she’d lower herself slowly on to him, putting him out of his misery. He’d be lucky if he could last a minute.

Nathan looked down at his boxers. He still got a semi thinking about shagging her, then quickly realised he probably wasn’t the only one around here.

‘Nayyyythaaaaannnn!!’

‘Fuck.’ He got up, pulled on his tracksuit bottoms and opened the front door. She stood leaning against the doorframe. What a fucking mess. Jilly Johnstone? More like Lily Savage after a fight. She turned and tried to focus on him. He stepped back, allowing her to walk into the room unaided.

‘Hiya, daaaarrlin.’ She stumbled in, rebounding off the couch as she headed for the bedroom. He could smell the reek of stale drink and the unmistakable hint of Paco Rabanne on her. He considered asking her when she’d started wearing aftershave but decided against it. He closed the door and followed her into the bedroom, looking down at her sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off her jacket.

‘Before ya ask I’ve been to Tina’s. I had half a bottle of Scotch an fell asleep on her couch.’

‘Leave your tights there, did you?’ he asked, staring at her bare legs, then at the tights sticking out of her bag.

She looked at her legs and hid a wry smile. ‘Yeah, must ave done.’

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. ‘Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Ange?’

‘I don’t remember saying that, darlin. Did I say you were stupid?’ she retorted, patronisingly.

‘You don’t have to – you treat me like a cunt.’ He walked over, pulled the tights from her bag and tossed them in her face.

She turned her head away. ‘What?’ she asked, as innocently as she could. ‘I took them off when I went to her bog – couldn’t be bothered putting them back on again.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Nathan, pulling the collar of her blouse away from her neck and confirming his suspicions. Two lovebites. ‘Are you gonna tell me Tina’s got a dog as well? If she has it’s got a fucking great taste in aftershave! Must have been all over you!’

She looked up at him, knowing she’d been well and truly caught. She was too confused to think her way out of this one now. It wasn’t her fault men found her attractive. She could feel them staring at her arse as she walked about behind the bar. They’d look down her blouse as she stood pouring a pint. She liked the attention – the compliments. It was worth spending an hour getting ready for work if it meant you felt good about yourself when you got there. Fuck knows the last time Nathan paid her a compliment. He was becoming a boring bastard – didn’t want to go out, always complained about money, didn’t want to take Ecstasy, said it shaved your brain. Silly bastard. He’d even stopped smoking dope, saying it was costing too much. He was a fucking miser, only interested in his work.

Well, it didn’t stop her taking the occasional E. She’d had two tonight and felt fucking wonderful. Big Stevie, the bouncer, had called her into the cloakroom at the beginning of the night and handed her one – said he’d taken them off a bloke at the door. She’d smiled mischievously at him. She liked Stevie – said if he grew a beard he’d look just like Wesley Snipes, but a lot handsomer.

Stevie’d held out his palm with the E on it. She tried to take it, but he closed his hand and slowly reached the other inside her bra, looking her in the eye as he stroked his forefinger across her nipple. He stepped back and looked her up and down. ‘There’s plenty more where this came from,’ he said, and handed over the E.

Angie took it off him, put her hand between his legs and squeezed his balls. ‘And there’s plenty more of this, darlin,’ she said, thrusting her cleavage up towards his face and laughing at him.

‘Faaakkkin hell!’ He laughed, looking about to see if anyone was watching, pretending to be shocked.

At the end of the night the staff all stayed behind for a drink as usual. She’d caught his eye as she got up to go to the ladies’. Stevie followed her in and closed the cubicle door behind them. ‘I think we’ve got some unfinished business,’ he said, grabbing her waist, spinning her round and kissing her. She kissed him back, then tilted her head away from him and looked at his face. He meant business. She wasn’t going to argue. ‘What’s that then?’ She smiled, knowing full well.

‘This.’ He spun her round and bent her over the cistern. She didn’t protest as he tugged her tights and knickers down to her knees and put a hand between the cheeks of her arse. She felt his palm move down to cup her pussy. He moved his index finger round in a slow, deliberate circle. She arched her back. Here was a guy who didn’t need a map.

‘You’re a peach – do you know that?’ he said, moving two fingers slowly up and down, getting her wetter and wetter. She exhaled deeply as he slipped his index finger deep into her pussy and moved it around. She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the cistern back on to his long, probing finger. If this was his finger-fuck who knows what his cock was like? She reached behind her for her skirt and hoisted it over her hips, looking back at him with a come-on smile and wiggling her arse at him. She felt his finger pull out and heard him undoing his belt, unzipping his trousers  . . .

‘Are you fucking listening to me or what?’

Nathan was standing over her, expecting an answer. She didn’t have one. What was the question again?

‘Oh, I fucking give up.’ He walked round the bed and sat on the other side with his back to her, his head in his hands. She got up and followed him to stand in front of him. He glanced up at her dishevelled frame, standing there, trying to focus on him. In two years she’d be forty. She looked fifty. He was only twenty-five. How the fuck had he ever managed to tie himself to such a horrible bitch? If only he’d known how things were going to turn out he’d never have suggested they get married. He thought back to the day he’d asked her. They’d spent the day lying in bed with a bottle of red wine, rolling spliffs. It was his day off. The whole day they’d shagged, got stoned, drunk wine and shagged even more. He’d thought he was in love. He was stoned out of his mind. He mentioned marriage. Why not? – they were good together. Angie didn’t have to be asked twice. She hugged and kissed him with tears in her eyes and said he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. After all the bastards she’d been out with, how did she ever get so lucky? She’d spent the next hour on the phone to her old mum, crying and laughing and talking about bridesmaids, wedding-cakes and honeymoons. Nathan had sat up in bed, skinning himself another joint, wondering what the fuck he’d done. It was too late to go back now.

From that moment on it was like a rollercoaster ride, straight to the church. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. You may kiss the bride.

Angie sat on the bed next to him, trying to look him in the eyes. She put her arm round him and rubbed his back. ‘I didn’t shag him, Nathan . . . honest. It was just a kiss, that’s all.’

‘Oh, fuck off, will you?’ he said, standing up. ‘I can’t do this any more, Ange, I’ve had it.’

‘What do you mean, you’ve had it?’

‘I’m leaving. I’m off. I’m not putting up with it any more.’

‘You’re not putting up wiv it?’ she said, standing up to face him. ‘What do you fink I have to put up wiv? You’re at work all day, and when you get in you don’t even look at me. We have our dinner in front of the telly, then I have to get ready for work and I’m out all night.’

‘Well, it’s obviously not working out, then, is it?’ He walked over to the window and looked out into the street at the milkman doing his rounds. He glanced across the horizon to the South Bank. The four menacing chimneys of Battersea power station cut through the morning mist like an upside-down oil rig. There was talk of turning it into a circus. That was all he needed, a fucking circus on his doorstep. There was enough madness in his life.

‘You’re a bastard, Nathan – a bastard!’ She pushed him in the back and sat down on the bed, turning on the waterworks. ‘I got married to you because I loved you, and you want to run away and leave me the minute things start going wrong.’ She sobbed. ‘Well, fuck off, then! Go on – fuck off! You’ll be sorry.’

He stared out of the window. ‘Oh, I will, will I? And how do you work that one out?’ he said, coldly.

‘Don’t concern yourself wiv it, darlin – you just take care of number one. That’s what you’re good at!’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked at the black mascara on her white blouse, wondering if it would come out in the wash.

‘You’re talking bollocks.’ He continued to stare outside, watching a milk boy jump on the back of the float.

‘Yeah? Well, my life’s bollocks, Nathan, a big pile of bollocks.’ She kicked off her shoes. ‘I’ll be thirty-nine next month and I’m still working behind the bar in a fucking disco! I knew you’d do this to me.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ He turned away from the window to see her lolling about on the bed, trying to sit up straight. He diverted his gaze, casting his eyes instead over her perfume collection on the dressing-table. He mentally totted up the cost: over three hundred quid. It still wasn’t enough to cover up the smell of bullshit.

She looked up at him, menacingly. Her eyes were black from the running mascara. She looked like Alice Cooper in a blonde wig. ‘I made you promise me before we got married that you wouldn’t leave me.’

‘So?’ he said.

‘And I told you that if I thought for one minute you were going to leave me because I was too old I’d kill myself. I don’t want people pitying me.’

He smiled sarcastically and pointed a finger at her. ‘Save your fucking threats, Ange, because this isn’t about you being over the hill. This is about you slagging around – again. I’ve played this fucking game for far too long. I’m out of here!’ He stormed off to the bathroom and slammed the door. The draught caught the dreamcatcher above the bed, making the chimes tinkle. Dreamcatcher. He snorted at the irony: his life was a nightmare.

What a fucking way to start the day. He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he took a piss – his dick had shrunk in anger. He looked almost white – the colour had completely drained out of him. He could hear her sobbing in the bedroom. Breaking her heart. Fuck her, he thought. If he was going to have any quality of life he’d have to leave her. She was as mad as a hatter. Manic, unstable. He was sick of treading on eggshells around her, wondering what kind of mood she was going to be in today. If Angie’s happy then Nathan’s happy, if Angie’s sad then Nathan’s sad. Well, he wasn’t going to depend on her for his happiness any more. This was it – goodnight, Vienna. He’d move in with his mum till he could find a flat. She wouldn’t mind. His mate Karl could help him decorate it. He’d be able to come and go as he pleased. Get a good night’s kip without waking up every hour wondering where that stupid wife of his was – if she was all right or if some cunt had grabbed her on the way home and raped her because she was either too pissed or too lazy to get a taxi home. Well, fuck her; she could be someone else’s responsibility from now on. Let some other poor bastard take care of her, because it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be him.

He listened as the sobbing died down in the bedroom. Good, she was probably in bed. Just as long as she wasn’t still there when he got back from work. He turned on the shower and stepped out of his tracksuit bottoms, thinking it might be an idea to go to the chippy tonight for his tea, then head off to the pub for a couple of hours. That way he could avoid her. She’d have to leave for work by nine. He could pack his stuff and be out of the door in an hour.

He stepped into the shower and sighed deeply as the water ran down his face and body. He thought he heard a bang come from the bedroom so he turned off the water and listened intently. Nothing. The silly cow was probably stomping about in a mood. He turned the water back on again and squirted a big glob of blue shower gel on to his palm. Serves her right, the dirty bitch. Now he knew where he’d got that thrush from, last month. You don’t just get thrush off your missus. Angie had told him that women get it all the time. Fuck knows what he’d catch if he stayed around here much longer. And she wondered why he didn’t want to shag her any more! ‘As ye sow so ye shall reap,’ his dad always said.

 

Keighley walked through the Leven woods on her way to work. She loved taking this short cut to and from work, especially at this time in the morning. It was quiet, peaceful. A twig snapped under her foot and she watched a rabbit freeze in its tracks, then look back at her before scurrying off through the trees. She ruffled the fringe of her Peter Pan-styled short blonde hair, pulled the strap of her black leather bag over her shoulder and put her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket. She glanced up at a flapping sound above her and saw a magpie flying from a tree. She smiled to herself – Lianne would have crossed herself or walked round in a circle three times or something. Very superstitious that girl. A single magpie was supposed to be bad luck. It was okay if there were two of them, cancelled each other out, she supposed. Three was worse than having one. She couldn’t remember what it was supposed to mean, but knew that three unnerved Lianne. She was into omens, signs, all that stuff. If something bad ever happened at work Lianne always said it was a sign. Just bad luck, thought Keighley, nothing you can do about it. Lianne said there were ways you could protect yourself. She had a book on spells that she’d picked up in a bookshop somewhere. She really believed in all that rubbish.

The poor girl was confused. Her head was in the clouds all the time. Keighley knew what Lianne really wanted out of life: a career in the public eye, show-business, modelling, a singer, something like that. Just some attention, really, someone to love her. She knew Lianne secretly resented being a nurse and if someone came along tomorrow and offered her a job presenting a TV show or singing in a girl band she’d drop nursing like a hot potato and be off without a backward glance.

Lianne was right about one thing, though: Josh wasn’t the man for Keighley. She knew it, too, deep down but thought, Better the devil you know. She couldn’t just break it off: he’d talk her back into it. She knew she wasn’t as happy as she could be. It was as though they’d been going through the motions for so long it had become second nature and they’d be together for eternity. She wondered if she was just going along with his plans, allowing him to make all the decisions for them. Surely she wasn’t letting someone else take charge of her life for her? Not again? She thought about the way he had changed lately, becoming increasingly unapproachable, flying off the handle for the slightest thing. She knew he was worried about work, but that wasn’t an excuse. She was always making excuses for him. Sometimes she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him – the jobs weren’t coming in as fast as they used to. It showed on his face. When he first arrived in Glen Leven he couldn’t keep up with the demand and spoke about having his own electrical firm if it continued, hiring people to do the work while he sat back and reaped the rewards. It didn’t take people long to catch on to the fact that he was overcharging them and using bullying tactics to get work. One young bloke had decided to try to fix his fuse box himself to save money and gave himself a shock. When Josh got wind of this he laughed at the bloke in the pub and told him to let the professionals deal with it in future.

Keighley grasped hold of a large tree root and hauled herself up the small incline. She stood on a patch of grass, dusting the dry earth off her hands. She hitched her bag over her shoulder again and continued across the grass, along a small log bridge that spanned a trickling stream. The sunlight shone through gaps between the dense trees, glinting off a couple of wet rocks to dance inches above the river. She breathed deeply in the clear morning air and trudged along the dry muddy path on the other side of the bridge. Then she saw it. A young deer, grazing up ahead in the glen. You hardly ever saw them at this time of year: they were always too quick for you. They only came down into the glen in the winter for food.

She stopped in her tracks and watched as it sniffed at the buttercups, then turned and looked across at her. She expected it to run off now that it had seen her but it stood its ground and seemed to be weighing her up, deciding if she was a danger or not. She moved forward slowly and sat down gingerly on a tree stump.

The deer spotted a clump of grass a few yards away from her, trotted over to it and began to munch, turning its back to her. She listened to it chewing, glad that it could trust her. She glanced at her watch – she’d better get a move on if she was to be in work on time. She changed her mind: she’d wait until the deer moved on. She didn’t want to scare it, not now that she’d gained its confidence. A couple more minutes’ relaxing wouldn’t hurt. Besides, once she got in to work she’d be lucky if she had a minute to herself all day.

She thought about the day she’d started at Craigellachie House, how glad she was to be doing something worthwhile. She knew her dad must have heard about her job by now, but he hadn’t been in touch since he left the village. Couldn’t be bothered to congratulate her. She knew why: he would have thought a job in nursing was beneath her.

Her, a surgeon? Imagine it. She laughed at the thought of herself in an operating theatre in a life-or-death situation, people wiping her brow, passing her scalpels and hanging on her every command. When the patient was out of danger she’d swan off, leaving a minion to sew them back up.

No chance.

She’d heard her dad talking about operations to her mum over the breakfast table. He’d describe the mechanics of a heart transplant he’d recently performed as though he’d just done an oil change on an Escort.

She could understand her parents having such high hopes for their kids, but he was over the top. He had it all worked out: she’d succeed at school, go on to college, then uni, get a degree in medicine then go on to be a surgeon. It would take a few years but it’d be worth it in the long run. It all seemed so straightforward, so pre-planned. He had her whole life mapped out for her and she couldn’t argue with him. Wouldn’t dare, more like. It was her life yet she never had a say in it. Maybe it had been a blessing in disguise that her mum had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

He hadn’t planned that, had he? Couldn’t fix it – sort it out like it was a dodgy ticker. Keighley had never seen him so helpless before. The man who played God was reduced to a mere mortal. What a co. . .