Nothing Personal: Part Sixteen

~ beetleypete

This is the sixteenth part of a fiction serial, in 780 words.

Clive sat there awkwardly, waiting for Janice to stop crying and not knowing what to say.

His childhood had never really taught him how to deal with women. All he had ever known about his father was what his mum had told him before she lost her battle with alcoholism and gave him up to the social serices to be placed in a care home. His dad was a soldier, and his mum had hated him for getting her pregnant and abandoning her.

Every time young Clive did anything wrong, she would scream at him. “There you go, just like your no-good dad. That’s how you’re gonna turn out”.

Hardly able to remember her later, he certainly remembered his life from the age of seven in the care system in a South Yorkshire town. Failed fostering attempts that never led to adoption. Abused physically, mentally, and sexually by both men and women until he grew strong enough to fight them off. By the time he was fifteen he had grown tired of them telling him how good-looking he was, and how much they were attracted to him. He yearned to be ugly and unnoticed.

School was hard for care home kids, and bullying commonplace. Something else young Clive learned was not to tolerate it, fight back, even if you took a beating. Some of the teachers turned a blind eye to the victimisation, though a few of them took advantage of his vulnerablility in any way they could. He saw a way out after his sixteenth birthday. He could join the army at that age, and then get away from the system that had tainted his life up to that point.

Maybe mum had been right. He was just like his father.

Army college was followed by more basic training, then posting to a regiment. He got fit, found companionship, and learned to be self-reliant. When his new friends talked about girls and sex, he made up an acceptable story that they seemed to believe. Unable to feel emotion for anyone romantically, he distrusted the women who came on to him in clubs or bars, and had no intention of ever being in a relationship that lasted longer than one night.

So what was it about Janice Owen that had got inside his head? She was average-looking, just a 30-something housewife holding down a job and doing her best to be mum to an annoying girl of twelve. He had looked at her in the wedding photo as he sat on her bed waiting to kill her husband, and somehow she had become someone he wanted to get to know. It certainly wasn’t guilt. Clive wasn’t sure he had ever felt guilt.

When Janice stopped crying and sat on the edge of the sofa next to him, he put his arm around her to comfort her, because he thought that was what he should do. At that point Becky realised she wasn’t getting any attention, and stood up. “I’m going to my room, give me a shout when food’s ready”. He was greatly relieved she was gone.

Janice suddenly remebered turning the oven on. “Oh, would you like to stay and eat with us, Clive? It’s only something from the freezer though”. He wondered if he should hang around, then decided he would. “Why don’t I take you both out to eat? You can choose somewhere Becky likes, and show me how to get there. Save you cooking”. Her face lit up in a smile. “Really? We would love that. Just give me ten minutes to sort my face out and change out of these work clothes”.

They came down more like twenty-five minutes later. Becky was dressed up like she was going to a night club, and Janice had transformed herself into an attractive woman looking forward to a change of routine and a night out. They directed him to an Italian place, part of a big chain situated in a retail park on the outskirts of the city. He got the feeling they didn’t eat out much, if at all.

During the meal, Becky asked him too many personal questions, and Janice managed to drink a full bottle of Chianti. But outside the home environment, they were both more relaxed, and he found himself enjoying the company. Dropping them back at the house later, Clive stayed in the car as they got out. With Becky walking to the door and waving goodbye, he spoke quietly to Janice. “I’ve got plenty of leave still, would you like to do this again while I’m here?”

She nodded enthusiastically, then leaned back into the car and kissed him gently on his cheek.

32 thoughts on “Nothing Personal: Part Sixteen”

  6. (1) Bad citation: “There you go, just like your no-good dad. That’s how you’re gonna turn out. You’ll be no good to anyone except those murderous people over at the Hampstead House!”
    (2) Clive yearned to be ugly and unnoticed. That’s why he bought a hideous mask for Halloween and then refused to go trick-or-treating. (Too bad Halloween was a one-day thing.)
    (3) Bad citation: “Some of the teachers turned a blind eye to the victimization, though a few of them took advantage of his vulnerability in any way they could. For example, one teacher tasked Clive with counting how many chicken wings Fat Bastard could eat while bathing all afternoon in a wide porcelain tub.”
    (4) So what was it about Cora Peterson that had got inside Jan Benes’s head? Was it that she looked a lot like Raquel Welch?
    (5) Clive was greatly relieved that Becky went to her room. He didn’t have to shoot the annoying 12-year-old after all.
    (6) Bad citation: “Just give me twenty-five minutes to change out of these work clothes into a black transparent loose mesh dress that reveals every inch of my flesh except for one small area hidden beneath some frilly white Italian undies.”
    (7) During the meal, Becky asked Clive a lot of personal questions. For example, “Do you prefer watching old episodes of Leave It to Beaver or Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

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    1. I certainly wasn’t expecting ‘Fantasic Voyage’. I saw that on release at the cinema and thought the special effects were great. But then I was only 14, and thought lots of things were great.

      Best wishes, Pete.

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