Fool's Hollow

By Van

The kick of a ball. The swing of a bat. The toss of a coin, Skinny knew how it would fall because he controlled it, he cheated. He had this secret power which he kept close to his chest and with this most powerful weapon at hand, it came to him how to knock-off his nightmare without arousing suspicion to himself and be free from all pain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781528957816

Van

Van, born in 1950, did his national service in Pretoria, and worked at Western Province Sports Club for eighteen years. He began travelling in the late eighties, backpacking through Asia and Western Europe. Finally, he settled in Britain and began writing.

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Forty-One

Copyright Information ©

Van (2020)

The right of Van to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528904803 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528957816 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Chapter One

His name was Kelvin Reddison. From the age of four, he was held prisoner in a shed and tortured. The shed was in Asherville, a mile away from the city of Durban. He was nine years old when the break came. He escaped from the shed. Only four people in the country knew him by his name.

Two out of the four would resume their torture if they could lay their hands on him; or kill him because he knew they had committed murder. That was in Durban, here in Greyville, no one knew him. He did not give them his name. It was a guarded secret from the time he showed up in their town and decided to stay. The town’s folk gave him the name of Skinny, simply because he was beanpole thin. He accepted the name Skinny. It saved arguments and there was less of a chance of those hunting him or discovering of his whereabouts.

The clothes he wore were discarded clothes picked up from trash cans. To live, there was nothing short of murder he would do to earn a dollar and he would take on any form of work to earn a penny. But that is, if he could find work in the financial crisis the country was experiencing. He would not lie or steal, not until he took up sports and discovered he could cheat and not get caught at it. He had an edge over any rival who wished to challenge him. He had this mental power which came out of fear and torture. It was his secret weapon.

He was careful how he used this invisible power. He never abused it, nor did he show off. This power allowed him to carry out feats which many rivals believed impossible to do on the pitch. So, he used it to the full— to cheat at sports— and got away with it with nobody being the wiser. But he could never cheat his nightmares. They were real. They haunted him at every sleeping hour and it was eating him alive from the inside.

Rarely did he smile because of throbbing pain caused by the migraine headaches, which dogged him at all times. But when he did smile, his face would light up like a child who has just been presented with a chocolate cake. Folks, if they got the chance to look into his eyes, would see only pain and fear. They would see the tortured, twisted soul in the boy, and nothing else. Apart from his fear, they couldn’t read him nor could they scare him. The citizens of Greyville tried to when he showed up in town the first morning. They did not want strangers roaming their streets.

For Skinny to be left alone, he acted tough. When he first showed his face in Greyville, they figured him to be a weakling. He was the pick of every one of the town’s bullies. They figured to smother him with their weight or amuse themselves. But Skinny’s mind was set long before setting foot in Greyville—that nobody is ever going to beat him again like the two men who tortured him did. That was then, but now anyone who lifts their hands on him must go all the way and kill him. It’s either that or they must leave him alone. So, he fought the bullies until they left him alone.

The word ‘alone’ was a big word for him. It weighed a ton, because he just wanted to be left alone. It was worth its weight in gold. It gave him strength. It gave him freedom of movement, and he was not governed like the city folks of Greyville were. He learnt that they are weaklings, and for their weakness, they wilfully would inflict pain on others much weaker than them and take satisfaction when carrying out their ghastly deeds.

He kept his scars hidden and let no one learn of his pains. If they did, they would know how to hurt him. Moreover, they must never learn his name, if they do, then his name would spread afar. Given time, the people who he is running away from would hear about him. They would hunt him down so that they could resume their tortures, maybe this time, they would bury him.

When the leading citizens of Greyville asked him his name, he wouldn’t tell. When they asked him to move on, he would not budge. He stayed and for his stubbornness, he got into many fights. Although, he kept pretty much to himself and walked his own winding road, he still ended up in brawls which he was prone to. He had committed no crime in town. The law couldn’t pin him, but it was the neighbourhood watchdogs that bothered him. They just fancied getting shut of him, maybe because he was a loner. He had the looks of a fragile kid and the neighbourhood watchdogs thought he would be easy to get rid of. They tried various methods. In the beginning, they tried strong-arm tactics to run him out of Greyville. He would fight them off. Then disappear but only to be the first to show up on the streets come mornings. And many nights, he was the last to disappear.

No one knew why he was in Greyville or where he came from, they didn’t know where he stayed or slept either. Many attempts were made to find his hideout, they tried to wait him out at night so they could follow him to his camp but it did not work. Skinny was too cunning to be caught by them. The clothes he wore everyday were the same that he had on the first day when he arrived in Greyville. The faded blue shirt was always a little creased but clean. It was like it was just washed. The black leather jacket he had on was a size too large on him.

The first time folks got a look at him when his jacket was off, mind you, he still had his sweatshirt on to cover the scars. They called him Skinny. They called him that because of the skin and bones they could see on his frame. That’s how thin he was and would be. Toughs and muggers took Skinny for an easy pushover, they soon learnt different.

He was too stubborn and would not be pushed over worth a damn. He would stand his ground to fight anyone who came looking for him, and if he did lose a fight on the first day, he would come back looking for the bully the next day and continue the fight all over again. The toughs just could not take it. They could not win. They left him alone or steered clear of him.

He shied away from making friends. His only contact with the locals was on the football grounds where he could make himself tired. The ground had no stadiums or stands built to watch when a game was in progress, and several matches could be played at the same time. It was a massive big field with over thirty pitches in two rows of fifteens. Spectators would stand around the football pitch of their choice to cheer for their team.

Matches were played every day of the week, and you would find Skinny threading his way between spectators and pitches hoping to be called in to play. Sometimes, opportunities arose when a club lacking funds or substitutes would call on Skinny to sub for the team. He would play, and nearly always scored.

Skinny would be the last to leave the grounds. Long after the ground’s staff had cleared the nettings, posts, secured the changing rooms and then departed. Once alone, he would then exercise through the night until he’d collapse to the ground out of sheer exhaustion; and what little muscles showed on his scrawny frame would quiver with exhaustion. Most nights, it did. He had to exercise every night to get to that stage, where he would knock himself out to have an untroubled thirty minutes of fit-full sleep before the dreaded nightmares struck.

After his nightly exercise, he would then stagger from the ground. He would enter the motorway, walk a mile and a half on the shoulder of the highway to enter the forest. He would then thread his way through the tall grass and densely wooded forest to the river, were he would wash and would barely be able to make it to his dry grass bed to lie down. Sleep, he could only get it if he was mentally and physically tired. If he wasn’t tired, then he would not be able to sleep a second.

He did not push for sleep and did not waste his waking hours lying down either. To make himself tired, he started the day cultivating his vegetable garden on the banks of the river. He followed it by exercising. Then came the excavation of the lake he was creating, and he was constructing it according to the lay of the land.

He had lived six lonely years in the forest, recuperating, before he was fit to venture out. The forest gave him time for his wounds to heal. It fed him and it gave him life. It was his little Eden. It was a safe haven from his enemies and from the folks of Greyville. The three square miles of forest was beautiful when looked upon from high up the cliffs. On the western part of the forest were the treacherous cliffs, razor-sharp ridges and rock-littered hills surrounded by the forest. This part of the region Skinny named ‘Mole Hill Mountain’ because when compared to the Drakensberg Mountain, it was tiny.

The river, its source which began at Drakensberg, wound its way lazily through the valley. Near the base of the cliffs on both banks of the river, he cleared the ground to make way for his farm. Two miles north of the river was where the local authority was building a dam and south of the forest was the farming community.

On the western banks of the river were the dense rich vegetation, and where the valley ended, it gave way to the rise of the plateau. In the forest, there grew a wide variety of oak, chestnut, cedar and acorn trees and a fair mixture of fruit trees were also growing wild. The forest was rich and beautiful, except for the building of the colossal dam. Half way between the forest and the Drakensberg Mountain, the landscape was being changed. Skinny was not happy with the construction because he loved the wilderness just as it was.

It was because when one stood on the summit of the cliff and looked north, one could see the wild natural beauty. The picturesque setting of the wilderness with two tiny little waterfalls could be seen. The first one has a drop of thirty feet, and a quarter mile down the river was the second fall. These two would disappear altogether when the building of the dam was completed.

Skinny lived off the forest which he had named ‘Fool’s Hollow’ because of the local folklore circulating in Greyville. The forest was rich in herbs, wild onions, tubers, berries, fruits and shrimps which thrived in the reed beds of the river.

He never killed any of the forest animals, they were his friends. The only friends he had and could trust not to turn on him like humans would do. The animals, too, trusted him. Rabbits, woodpigeons, even the skittish African grey parrots and guinea fowls would bathe on the banks of the river close to him or feed around him, knowing that they would not be harmed.

When he had money, which wasn’t very often, he would buy luxury items such as meat, flour, sugar, salt and tea in Greyville to augment his bush supplies of vegetables, only if he had to or when there was no other choice left. He could then live off the large numbers of birds roosting in the forest and rabbits too, through the lean period of the year.

The citizens of Greyville were superstitious. They were afraid to enter the forest and would not venture anywhere near the perimeters of the forest. They feared they would disappear like the young couple who did years ago, and would be killed by mysterious forces which lived in the jungle. Their fears were Skinny’s gains. The folks would not enter the forest so he had the time and freedom of movement to explore the wilderness, undisturbed.

The country at that time was in the middle of a financial crisis and it was a trying time for Skinny to be on the streets of Greyville. Businesses were shutting their doors, unemployment rate rose to a post-war high, work was tough to find. It was even tougher for strangers to find work in Greyville. It was practically hopeless for Skinny.

Queues at the dole office lengthened and petty crimes, noticeably muggings, were at an all-time high. But fortunately for Skinny, he was not affected by the crisis and would not starve. He had the forest to fall back on, and he had nothing worthwhile for the muggers to take off him.

One night, when he was on his marathon run on the football ground, an idea had formed at the back of his head. It stayed with him. It was only a thought, but it nagged at him to act. After a gruelling morning of swimming and jogging. He sat on the bank of the river to give the idea more consideration.

Skinny had no schooling. His reasoning was few. After much thinking, he came to the conclusion that he could get rid of his nightmares. It could be done only by killing off the root cause of it. But to do that, to overcome his nightmares, he would have to kill the people responsible for his torture.

He did not know the men who tortured him. He will not be able to identify them if they were to parade in front of him. They had him locked in a blackened shed and used the cover of darkness to torture him. So, to discover the identity of those two men, he would have to dig into his nightmares. He would have to dig into his very fears, to endure the pain to find the reason for his torture. Then and only then, when the guilty parties responsible for his tortures were eliminated, his nightmares would vanish. He would be free of demons, and could then lead the life of a normal person.

There would be no more pain, and then he could get more hours of sleep each night. He could sleep until the cows came home after that. He would make preparations for this eventuality, then he paused for thought. How does a boy walk up to a man and say, You are to be murdered? You are to be killed because you tortured me and brought about my misery. The legacy of your torture is causing me pain and sleepless nights. For that, you must die. He had no proof other than his words that it was them. They could deny it, but ’murder’, it had an ugly sound to it.

Maybe he would have to hire a hitman, an assassin or whatever they are called, to get the job done. In doing so, he could keep his hands clean. But to hire a professional hitman, it would take money, which he did not have. He was broke. He had not more than 50p since he escaped from the shed where he was held as a prisoner.

Hiring a hitman would be costly. He had no idea how to go about hiring one because of his lack of schooling. He could not read the newspapers nor a thrilling novel where he could have the feel or the gist of hiring a killer.

He did not know how much the hitman’s services would cost. But the more he thought about it, the more his gut feeling told him he was on the right track. It was the right thing to do. He decided he would begin by selling fresh herbs and fruits of the forest in the market. He began doing it, but it was tough going to sell his produce at first.

He was called a foreigner by the locals and did not get their support at the beginning. He doggedly persevered. He struggled very hard to get by in the first month to sell a basket of greens. He only sold when the recession bit deeper. Only when it did, then, the customers came to him for the cheaper and freshly cut greens.

It was a glorious beginning to the morning when he sold his first lot of greens. The grey disappearing into the distance and the yellow sunflower smiling sun showing its face in the horizon. The market bustled with people yet very little money was floating around. The folks were tight-fisted when it came to spending and Skinny did not blame them for it.

It was the first morning of the week, and for the first time after more than a month of hawking in the market, he sold all his greens but got robbed of his first day’s takings. He only realised his money was lifted from his pocket when he was entering the football ground.

He paused at the entrance of the ground to think, to work out where he got robbed and by whom? He figured it could only have happened when he was coming out of the market square, when a pickpocket group of three men accidentally— or was it not an accident— bumped into him.

He went looking for the gang and cornered them in the supermarket. They were shopping with his money. The pickpocket who had bumped into him stood in the queue with a basket load of rolling tobacco and cans of beers. His head swivelled when the door of the store opened and his expression changed to one of alarm.

The pickpocket was a wiry, slender youth. Eighteen years old with insolent eyes. His hair was long. His lips and teeth were tobacco-stained brown. The two lads with him were poolroom hustlers and were petty vandalisers. Skinny had seen them a time or two at work and had avoided their company.

Skinny did not speak. He did not say *‘Hi’ or ‘Give me back* my money’. He waded into the muggers, and so ferocious was his attack that shoppers scattered and gave him room to manoeuvre. In twice that many seconds, the first of the mugger was knocked out. The second hopped on one foot and clutched the other leg where Skinny had kicked him. Skinny stood over the third man.

Mugging was a daily occurrence in Greyville. Criminal gangs ranging from three to a dozen muggers had their own selected patch and preyed on vulnerable folks. These criminals were from Greyville, and it angered the folks that it was their own people that were robbing them, but they could do nothing about it.

Because of the criminal gangs operating in Greyville, the Neighbourhood Watch was formed. All the members of this select group were aged forty years and upwards. They had not a clue how to stop the scourge of mugging, or, as Skinny thought— they protected their own interest only and to hell with the vulnerable.

It took a long time for the town’s folks to realise that Skinny was no threat to them; that he earned his pennies from renting a stall in the market. So, when the fight broke out in the store, Jardine the storekeeper, clicked on that this was not a robbery, this fight was between Skinny and the three known muggers. He gave him room to fight. When the dust settles, it would bring the muggers into the open. Shoppers would be wary of them. He stayed out of harm’s reach, behind his counter.

The shoppers, too, figured that Skinny was robbed. After the first few violent seconds of the fight they realised there was no danger to them. They stood to one side in a group watching Skinny, then they heard him say to the mugger who was on his back, Your jaw is broken. Do you want me to kick your teeth in too? The pickpocket then reached for the wallet in his inside jacket pocket and handed it back to Skinny.

Skinny checked the contents in the wallet and then spoke to Jardine, the storekeeper, This wallet Mr Jardine, and money in it belongs to me. It’s not much but it is all I have. They stole it from me. Mark down any goods damaged in this fight and I will pay you when I am passing this way again.

Thereafter, Skinny sold his daily harvest in the market without a hitch, and it was a week after the fight with the muggers when he went back to the store to pay for the damages. Apart from a broken jam jar and dents on a couple of canned goods falling off the shelf, there were no further damages. The loss was small, but the store needed an errand boy. Suggested by the Barrington’s, Skinny was the ideal candidate for a delivery boy, and the store could progress if he was employed. The Portuguese storeowner took the advice and waved the payment aside.

An errand boy is needed, he said to Skinny. The last one quit on me because he was beaten by muggers. The grocery was stolen and he refuses to work for me again. How about it? The pay is little. It’s a start and you can still sell your greens in the morning.

Every little bit will help, Skinny thought. He took the job and encountered trouble on his way to deliver the first batch of grocery to the customer. The Portuguese store’s boss had the grocery boxed with the address of the customer attached to it. Before Skinny left the store, the Portuguese handed him a foot-long baton. You will know how to use it when the time comes. It will save you valuable seconds.

Skinny stuck the baton under his belt and pulled his shirt over it. He lifted the box of grocery to his shoulder and walked out of the store. He hit the High Street in a sweat-breaking walk. He then walked through West Road, through South End Road and turned into Disa Place, a cul-de-sac road. The third house at the third lamp post was owned by the customer, but under the lamp post, in front of the house lurked danger. The muggers were waiting for him.

Chapter Two

Five of them stood under the lamp post, blocking his path. One of them was the pickpocket whose jaw he had broken in the store a week earlier. Skinny let his eyes stay on ‘Broken Jaw’ a little longer. He then placed the box on the pavement 10 yards from the muggers, and with the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat off his brows.

It had been a brisk, forty minutes’ walk from the store with the heavy box of grocery. He could feel the sweat running down his back. The sun was behind him and was scorching his shoulders. He undid the top buttons of his shirt.

It was a scorcher of a day. Vermin, Skinny’s voice sounded hollow in the quiet street. You never learn, do you? Skinny said to the pickpocket who had lifted his wallet a week ago in the marketplace.

My name is not Vermin. It’s Veeman. We want that box of grocery and the money you are carrying in your belt.

I can see you haven’t learnt your lesson yet. You think with more men on your gang, it will be easier to rob me?

This is my gang. I control them. Hand over the money belt to me, said the mugger standing on Veeman’s right. He was a thickset man, about nineteen years of age. He wore a frayed bottom jeans and scruffy boots. The red shirt he wore showed brown dots like burning tobacco had spilled on it and he looked older by the fuzz he grew. He was an alleyway and footpath mugger.

Skinny did not reply. He stood beside the box of grocery and waited. This was the rooster of Greyville, this was the mugger they called Houdini, who disappeared after every hit and had never been caught. He had committed the most muggings and was leader of a twenty-one-member gang, but no one could say if he had committed any of the muggings single-handedly like many other muggers had done.

In several of his muggings, Houdini had stabbed his victims. It was nothing critical but it showed to his victims what length he would go to rob them, that he meant business. All were stabbed on the arm, except one who was stabbed in the chest. It was not fatal. Now in this sunny Saturday morning, standing under the lamp post with his friends, he faced Skinny. Determined to rob him, his right hand was in his pocket and he took a step closer towards Skinny. Hand over the belt.

Boys, there is no need to get all worked up, there is an economic crisis at present we all know of. Everyone is feeling the pinch. I will tell you what I will do. When I have delivered this box of grocery and get paid, I will split it evenly with you boys.

We don’t split anything. We won’t even wait for the pittance you earn for this job. We are taking what you have in your money belt. The box of grocery and you can get lost. My advice to you is to forget the job.

Your advice?

We are going to take you every time you make a delivery, Houdini, the mugger took another step forward and drew his knife.

Coolness washed over Skinny, he stood stock-still. There was something about the shine of light on blades that covered him with goose pimples, it sent the shivers down his spine. The fear of knives was from the days when he was tortured. He vowed another knife would never touch his skin again.

The bile rose to his throat and then subsided. The shivers passed and calmness followed. His eyes pinned the mugger. He spoke softly, Come and take it!

Houdini was smiling, his confidence from previous muggings and getting away with it showed in his grin. His shaved head glistened in the sun. He held the knife in front of him like a fencer holds a sabre.

He was fourteen inches taller than Skinny and sixty pounds heavier. He was using that weight and height advantage to crowd Skinny and at the same time, to show his men that he was their leader. He was ready to strike and looked once more to his men for assurance. He then took two steps forward.

I will take it, Houdini said and thrust with the knife. Skinny sidestepped to his right and then whacked down hard with the baton. The sudden appearance of the baton in Skinny’s hand took Houdini by surprise. It turned his smile into a howling scream.

The blow struck the outstretched arm on the wrist. The knife clattered to the road. Skinny instantly followed with a jab to the throat. Houdini went to his knees, his one hand hung limp, the other clutched his throat. He was gasping for air when Skinny kicked him in the mouth.

Skinny turned to meet the rush of muggers. He rotated on his heel and lashed out at Vermin, the baton catching him across the ear, and as Skinny’s arm was swinging back it struck Vermin on the temple.

He stepped over the pickpocket and jabbed the baton into the third mugger’s stomach. The mugger doubled over and Skinny slammed him behind the ear which sent him sprawling to the asphalt. The two standing muggers who had kept their distance, figured it was not worth robbing Skinny, so they bolted.

Skinny stood over Houdini. You have pulled out a knife to stick into me, to show me how tough you are. From today, you will no longer have the use of your hands. Skinny repeatedly struck the mugger’s wrists and knuckles.

Veeman’s hands were wrapped around his head. He was watching Skinny work over Houdini, with pain-filled eyes, he saw Skinny turn on him. You had your chance to run and did not take it. You’d not be running anymore. And the baton repeatedly crashed down on Veeman’s knees.

The fight was over. Skinny looked down on the muggers, it would be a long time in coming before they ever think of mugging again. He had no pity for them even if they were crippled for life. Anyone who pulled a knife on him must suffer the consequences that followed. He tucked the baton under his belt, picked up Houdini’s knife and the box of grocery and went about the business of delivering the grocery and had his first meeting with the customer.

The door opened before Skinny could knock by the lady of the house. Come in. She stood to one side of the door wearing only a see-through negligee, a black panty and nothing else. It was only the merest of glance, but he kept his composure.

He had to, because he did not know what to expect or what the lady had expected from him. It was for his survival to note little things and not show it. He did not meet her eyes. He stared at the picture of a sailing boat on a lake. Where should I leave this box of grocery?

On the kitchen table, Skinny followed as she led the way.

Skinny placed the box of grocery on the table; he had still not met her eyes. Could you safely dispose of this knife for me Mrs? I found it lying on the roadside. I have no need for it.

I watched the fight through the window and that was the quickest knock-down of three men I’ve seen. That took some skill and you don’t look flustered by the fight.

I want to live, Mrs Barrington.

She was standing close to Skinny, he could smell the perfume. My name is Pristine. My friends call me Pris.

Yes, Mrs. Skinny stepped around her to keep the table between them and walked out of the house. He did not realise he was holding his breath until he was on the road, gasping for air.

She had a figure to take any man’s breath and she was no taller than Skinny. She was five feet, with blonde bob-cut hair. There was a black spot like a birthmark just above her left breast.

Houdini still lay on the pavement when Skinny walked by after delivering the grocery. His hands were outstretched in front of him, he was whimpering with pain. The hand that held the knife was crushed to a pulp. Whether the surgeons could put it back together again or if it would heal properly, Skinny did not know.

Folks had given Houdini a wide berth in the past, and here he lay stretched out in agony. Skinny walked past him, then walked back. Whenever our path crosses, I will smash your hands, he stomped on the hand which had held the knife and walked away.

Skinny collected his pay from the storekeeper Jardine. How did the delivery go?

I got through and that’s what counts. Is that not right, Mr Jardine?

What about the customer? I hear she is something to look at? the Portuguese asked with a leering grin.

Mr Jardine, she is a customer like any other. If you want to learn something about her, you ask her yourself, without another word Skinny walked out of the store. He was not a tale-teller and would not speak badly of any person, especially a lady. If the Portuguese wanted to cut the delivery job, he could do so. It won’t stop his ambition to save as much money to hire a hitman.

He entered the grounds, and today being Saturday, a dozen games were in progress and the crowd was growing as the games progressed. Skinny never stood on one place for too long, he walked between pitches watching each game for a minute or two and then moved along, threading his way between spectators.

Skinny was not a member of any team. The club managers would not recruit him because of favouritism, and to them he was still a stranger, he was an outsider, but sometimes he would be asked to play as a substitute. They would ask him only when one of their players was injured or when a team’s manager had a bet on at the bookmakers. They believed Skinny, for his aggressive playing would score goals. He earned no money whenever he played and he only played just to get tired.

The first-round matches were coming to an end, teams playing the second rounds were preparing for the afternoon session. It was time to vanish, to work on the lake, but his thoughts were on Pristine, the customer.

Chapter Three

The Deans were one of the wealthiest families in Greyville, and the wealth was in the possession of Pristine. She had inherited a huge fortune when her folks died. Her father had died of an incurable illness and five years later, her mother died at the hands of a robber. Pristine met Dean Barrington at a dinner party and then married him. With his expertise in the clothing industry and her inheritance, they opened the clothing factory, Barrington & Barrington Limited.

Pristine was all for the one-wife-one-husband marriage, her upbringing and grooming was for it. She, like her mother believed in running a good home and to bear children. She was a devoted wife and expected her husband to be loyal to her. Then one day, she received a tip-off that her husband was dating seamstresses who were working in the factory under him.

Not trusting to third party’s tip-off, she decided to watch her husband herself. She set off to do her own bit of detective work. She gathered information on her husband, filled her diary with dates, times, name of seamstresses and motel rooms used by her husband. He was running up a score. After several weeks of spying on him and the decline of marital sexual intercourse with her, she planned her revenge on him.

All along her married life, she was faithful to him and loved him. So, whatever she planned to do to him was a serious matter. She needed much thinking time. So, after much pondering and with the evidence she had, she confronted him with it. Dean broke down and she forgave him for what he did. But when four months later, she saw him entering a cheap boarding house with one of his staff again, she made up her mind. That night when Dean returned home from his romp, like a doting wife, Pristine served her husband dinner and went to bed.

I will shower first before I hit the sack, Dean said to his wife and waited for her to get into bed. He watched his wife through the half-open bathroom door. I am too tired tonight, honey. I think I will sleep when I am done drying myself.

I understand, dear. It must have been a hectic day at the factory, Pristine spoke casually, without throwing any threatening hints and lay back on the pillow. Her mind was set, any arguments now would serve no purpose.

Her husband came to bed. He shut his eyes and she waited, soon his breathing became even, he was asleep. She gave him time to fall deeper into slumber and then removed the blanket and without hesitation cut off his manhood. Dean Barrington felt the scorching heat and jumped up, howling.

If I am no good in bed for you Mister, then no other woman will do. Pristine flushed the lifeless penis down the pan.

After the mishap, the Barrington’s still lived under one roof as husband and wife should. On the surface, they were a happily married couple, but after a while, as the months flew by, maternal instinct got the better of Pristine. She wanted children. Dean couldn’t give her any due to the loss of his manhood. They agreed to wait for someone suitable to pass by.

They chose Skinny, they guessed the boy was about sixteen or seventeen years old. He was a stranger in Greyville and had no friends to talk sex about. After much consideration and spying on Skinny, they learnt he would not brag to the town folks. He was a loner. He would be the ideal candidate.

It was the second Saturday of the month and Skinny was on his errand of delivering grocery. He pushed through the gates and his eyes flickered to the window, the curtains moved. He raised his hand to knock, and like before, the door opened before he could rap. Pristine, stark naked, stood to one side and she allowed him to enter.

Dump the grocery on the chair, she said after the door slammed shut behind her, then she was all over him.

Skinny hadn’t had a second to gawk at her or to admire her body. They were kissing and rolling on the carpet. Or rather, she was doing the kissing while wrestling him to the carpet.

This was unexpected and new to Skinny. He had heard about sex. It was talked about in the movies, by boys hanging out in arcades or pool rooms, about what they would do if they had a girl, or they may have seen their older brothers necking their girlfriends, and they talked about it. Now, it was happening to him, this was for real. He was not going to put up a fight though. It was a new sensation to him, better than pain, and he liked it.

He was inexperienced, utterly green, it was first for him. It excited him and he wasn’t going to kick up a fuss. Her hand was inside his pants. Her fingers encircled his erection. She pushed his pants down to his ankles but Skinny would not allow her to remove his T-shirt.

She wasn’t bothered about it and went down on him. Skinny felt the warm breath when she took him in her mouth and did not want her to stop. She had another idea, she straddled him and he entered her.

Skinny made love to her on the carpet. When he was done, he was ready to go. Pristine saw him to the door and she palmed him £50. Use it wisely.

What’s this for? I am not a male prostitute. I had fun, just as much as you did.

I know you did. Take it anyway, she said and blew him a kiss.

You are late for your pay boy?

Mr Jardine, I am grateful to you for giving me the job, and you? You should be grateful the work’s done. The decision is for you to make, whether my services are required, because you will not get anything out of me.

Skinny sloped out of the store and headed for the grounds to sub for the district team. He was asked by Peter Gates to play in his squad and to score one goal. Skinny, with the natural born speed he had, scored the one goal like he was asked to do so by Gates. When the game ended, he stayed behind to help Tim Pawel—the groundsman— to clear the nettings, and remained long after the groundsman had left to continue his nightly ritual of tiring himself out.

Muggers steered clear of Skinny after they heard what happened to Houdini, and Skinny did not lose the delivery job. In fact, the storekeeper’s confidence grew with his reliability to deliver and increased telephone shopping. His Saturdays’ morning delivery to Pristine was regular, even when grocery was not needed, she would purchase just one item to have it delivered by Skinny.

Her relationship with her husband remained stable after the minor mishap. Like clockwork, he would leave in the mornings for work and return early evening. Pristine, on the other hand, would stay at home; she did not believe on employing a housekeeper.

She would dust and clean the house by herself, and don overalls to work in the garden. Around mid-afternoon, she would clean herself to prepare dinner for her husband, and Skinny knew all of what took place around him. In his loneliness as an outcast in Greyville, when he was not working in Fool’s Hollow, he would wander through streets and alleyways to observe peoples’ behaviour. By now he knew Pristine’s habits, then it was by chance, one day, Skinny discovered that Saturday mornings were reserved for him.

By day or night, if he was not exploring the forest or exercising, he would walk the streets and he would never walk the same street twice in the same day. He knew every house in Greyville and who lived in them within a mile’s radius of the store.

Like a chess player, he had studied Greyville. He knew every squeaky gate which was to be avoided. He knew every lane, alleyways and footpaths he could use when he had to disappear, or when he had groceries to deliver. He always used different routes and on one such delivery, he came across Pristine’s husband sitting in his car. The car was