Revengement

1988.

Chapter One

The clock on the bedside table ticked loudly with monotonous regularity. It was three-thirty in the morning. Charles Roach and his wife, Jennifer, lay sleeping in a large double bed as the moonlight struck a path through a slit in the curtains.

In the confines of sleep, he twisted and turned in an agonised fashion, uttering slow moans, and then suddenly sat bolt upright in the bed crying out something incoherent at the top of his voice. His eyes opened widely, his mouth felt dry, and he was perspiring heavily. Jennifer switched on the light in alarm and turned towards him sitting up quickly.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked with concern.

He blew out his cheeks with relief and ran the palms of his hands over his eyes. ‘Oh, God!’ he uttered dolefully. ‘The dream was so vivid I thought it was real.’

She began to laugh at his dismay. ‘Dream!’ she echoed. ‘I think it was more like a nightmare. Tell me about it. It might help you shake it out of your mind.’

He shrugged his shoulders casually. ‘You know what it’s like with dreams... and nightmares. They’re so real in your sleep but you can’t remember them when you wake up.’

Come on!’ she chided disbelievingly. ‘Pull the other one! You had a nightmare. Everyone remembers those. What was it... the big bogeyman?’

He blew out his cheeks again as though having rid himself of the fear and terror. The nightmare had been about his wife but he couldn’t tell her about it. Even worse was the fact that he had experienced the same one twice before. It was etched for ever in his memory by now and, to be truthful, it scared him. He had dreamed that it was deep in the heart of winter. Snow had stopped falling and he and Jennifer were walking along a white wonderland when a mist came down. Suddenly, a man on a white horse came charging at them. He came far too close and Jennifer was knocked down roughly by the steed as it passed by. She fell and hit her head on a rock. Charles tried to revive her but she was stone dead! At that point, the level of sleep drifted away and he opened his eyes to reality.

‘Thank God she’s still alive!’ he muttered to himself on eah occasion, without revealing the essence of the nightmare. He prayed it was not the kind of premonition people often boasted about some time before a disaster occurred. Jennifer was six months pregnant and he would do anything in his power to protect her. Relating weird tales about her death, stemming from something conjured up in his sub-conscious mind during sleep, would fail to comfort her. It was far better that he remained silent and kept the secret to himself.

Jennifer put her arms around him and kissed him tenderly on the lips. ‘It’s three-thirty in the morning, darling,’ she said sweetly. ‘Would you mind arranging for your nightmares to occur somewhere in the region of seven-thirty in future so that we can both get a good night’s sleep?’

He began to laugh at her comment. ‘If it wasn’t so pathetic it would be funny,’ he responded. ‘Why should a grown man with no serious worries have nightmares, that’s what I want to know. Only children normally have that kind of bad dreams.’

She kissed him and rearranged the covers on the bed. ‘Never mind, my baby,’ she said with amusement. ‘Mummy will look after you.’ She paused for a moment placing her hand on her abdomen. ‘He kicked me then, you know. He’s complaining that you woke him up as well. Really, Charles, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!’

They both started to laugh and then they snuggled down in the bed, hugging each other, before switching off the light. Yet despite the light-heartedness, Charles was very concerned about the experience. He was happy about it at all!

***

Jim Purdy was a large man... six feet three inches in height and weighing over eighteen stone... and he sported a shock of black hair. His tired craggy face belied his real age and whenever he smiled his teeth reflected a yellow colour. His eyes appeared to be bloodshot through lack of sleep and worry and it would be a brave man to pick a fight with him. Most of the time he wore a thick tartan shirt and blue denims which had seen far better times. Until he started to drive a truck on his own account he was extremely flamboyant, considering himself a ‘Knight of the Road!’ Now that he ran his own business, he was tense and sombre with a world of worry on his shoulders. How personalities changed under the mantle of responsibility!

He had been commissioned to take a load of roofing slates to a location in Cornwall and two days later his truck plundered through the murkiness of a Cornish winter. The change in the weather had surprised everyone in the south of the country. It was one of the few occasions when heavy snow had fallen at this time of the year. The big lorry hastened its journey ferociously through the evil conditions, surging forward like a huge predator hunting eagerly for its prey. It was being driven far too fast on the slippery surface. The fog lamps... two yellow sightless eyes... penetrated the heavy mist, like two laser beams slicing coolly through a mountain of white marshmallow. Inside the vehicle, the speedometer showed the rate of acceleration far in excess of fifty miles an hour. Purdy was aware that he was exceeding the speed limit, running the truck with undue haste in deplorable conditions through a densely populated residential estate. His actions caused it to be an accident waiting to happen. He sat rigidly behind the steering wheel staring straight ahead at the white road in front of him. The journey had just begun and he had over two hundred miles to go for the delivery. The exigencies of the day had been extremely frustrating, sometimes traumatic, A further problem was the fatigue which tended to make him insensitive to caution. Earlier in the day, road works, traffic hold-ups, and the delay for a minor repair to the engine had pushed him to the brink. Then he had to wait for two hours at the depot to be loaded because of technical difficulties. He had become intolerant and angry, feeling that the world owed him a living. As an entrepreneur, a one-man transport business, operating very tightly financially... on a shoe-string... loss of time meant loss of money. Working for himself, he relied on a swift run to this part of the country, loading quickly, and returning rapidly to London. It would have afforded him the six hours sleep he needed before he embarked on his next delivery. The delays, which were beyond his control, had cost him all his slumber which meant that he would be forced to break the law by not taking sufficient rest. It wasn’t the first time either. Long ago he realised that he couldn’t afford to follow the rules and this was yet another occasion. The main problem was the large loan from the bank which hung like a yoke around his neck, gathering interest all the time. If he didn’t drive around the clock he couldn’t afford the repayments. This had been intimated by his belligerent, and often offensive, bank manager who contacted him about it in a bullying fashion month after month. All too often his bank account had been frozen whereby cheques drawn by him were no honoured.

So far, on this miserable day, it was debatable whether he would get to London in time to load a series of wall divisions to a site in Newcastle. He knew that driving without rest was a dangerous practice but he shrugged it off telling himself that ‘Needs must when the Devil drives!’ Time was of the essence and that was the primary reason for him to cut through the residential estate well in excess of the speed limit.

***

The architects of the Roseland estate never received an award for their professional designs or effort. Neither should they have done because the estate was simply an accumulation of houses and bungalows clustered together in an area comprising forty acres. The properties were quite ordinary to look at, some expressing themselves as extremely modest. However it was relatively close to the town centre with its maze of cobbled alleyways, walled gardens, and streets lined with elegant Georgian buildings. Within a reasonable distance, it was possible to see the harbour full of yachts and fishing vessels. There were narrow streets with Victorian-built villas and it was close to a sandy beach, landscaped by rolling hills dotted with interested properties, medieval churches and historic sites.

Charles and Jennifer were not natives of Cornwall. They had moved there to enjoy the quality of life and had bought a small bungalow on the estate. Their presence made an impression on the local community and they became known as ‘The Romantics’ living on the edge of the estate. They were always seen holding hands, kissing each other, and looking at each other in an aura of love. Evidence of their community spirit occurred when an elderly neighbour fell and broke his hip. After he was taken to hospital, they took care of his black-and-white Welsh terrier for him. Every evening, they walked the dog for a mile down the road, irrespective of the inclement weather. On this occasion, a light mist shrouded the area and a slight drizzle began to fall causing the roads and pavements to become slippery. Charles and Jennifer prepared to go on their walk dressed in yellow oilskins, laughing loudly as they stared at each other.

‘Anyone would think we were in the wilds of the Arctic,’ commented Jennifer with amusement.

He smiled and collected a large red umbrella from the hallstand. ‘If I take this with us it’ll soon stop raining,’ he told her. ‘You can be certain of that.’

She burst into an old refrain. ‘Oh it ain’t gonna rain no more, no more. It ain’t gonna rain no more.’

They giggled and he joined in the chorus with her. Then they kissed lovingly before he picked up the lead and took the dog outside. They were both unaware that it was the last kiss they would experience together. ... the last few minutes as partners and lovers! Hand in hand, they walked down the narrow pavement of the estate until they reached the main road. Roach took a firm hold of the dog’s leash with his other hand as they stepped out cautiously on the slippery surface. Under the dim lamplight, the pavement and the road merged into a single whiteness, one practically unidentifiable from the other. In the Spring, there had been an abundance of daffodils and primroses along the roadside, spelling out their glorious colour and penetrating the air with delicate aroma. Now ... everything had withered away to be covered by the icy showers from the heavens. The happy could stared at each other and smiled settling down to a steady pace. Their commitment was evident by the love-light in their eyes. Even the dog, which kept stopping to sniff at the hedge on the inside of the pavement seemed to be aware of their passion for each other as he struggled in front of them to make his way through the snow.

***

The roar of the high-powered engine of Purdy’s truck could be heard long before it came into sight. He stared keenly through the windscreen with bleary eyes, scanning the white road ahead for any obstruction as he continued to increase speed., keeping his foot at the same pressure on the accelerator. Although he had no knowledge of this part of Cornwall, he sensed that he was close to the main motorway which would be gritted and relatively free of snow. Impatiently, he shifted in his seat seeking out a road sign to indicate its proximity. As he came over the brow of the hill and started the descent, the Welsh terrier without warning, wrenched himself away from the grip of his minder with a savage tug, setting himself free. He had seen nervous Siamese brow-point car on the other side of the road and his instinct forced him to chase the animal. He failed to heed the truck speeding towards him and ran across the road directly into its path. Purdy thrust his foot hard on the brakes causing them to squeal... the sound piercing shrilly through the cold night air. He pulled the steering wheel sharply to avoid hitting the dog but the action caused the truck to skid wildly, swerving violently across the road. The tyres scorched tracks in the snow for some distance down the hill as the truck veered out of control climbing the pavement to the point where Charles and Jennifer were walking. Jennifer was nearest to the kerb when the near side wing of the vehicle struck her with full force, projecting her into the air like a bull tossing a failing matador in a Spanish bull-ring. Her body crashed some distance away with a sickening thud. Charles was too stunned to move being stranded without injury as the metal wing lightly brushed his arm. One moment they had been walking happily together, then suddenly she was snatched from his grasp to lay like a rag doll in the road.

After the vehicle had pulled to a halt, its engine purred idly in the mist, but Purdy failed to alight from the cabin. He had seen a flash of yellow on the pavement and realised that he had struck someone. There was another person dressed in yellow who seemed to be rooted to the spot. Purdy dwelt on the issue for about fifteen seconds and then he decided that honour was not the best part of valour. Moving swiftly into a lower gear, he proceeded on his journey without delay, ignoring the fact that he might have killed another human-being or, at the very least, had seriously injured them. Although he was well aware that it was his duty, as well as the law, to stop and report the incident, he realised that an admission of this nature would entail a long investigation by the police and he could not afford the time. For that reason, he would have lost the next load to Newcastle to a competitor. No delivery meant no income! After all, there was nothing he could do for the unfortunate victim... especially if he or she was dead, whereby a long delay would damage his business substantially. It was a matter of looking after his own interests before considering others, regardless of their plight. Far wiser men had told him that charity began at home so, after releasing his brakes to a loud hissing noise, he pressed hard on the accelerator and vanished into the darkness.

Charles stared in disbelief as the truck left the scene of the accident. The sound of silence echoed in his ears as though he was deaf. He was so devastated at the sight of his wife laying there awkwardly in the road, his mind went completely blank. His blood had turned to ice and his muscles froze. Swiftly front doors were opened at the screeching sound that the truck had made and residents emerged from nearby houses to investigate the reason for the commotion. They were appalled to find one of The Romantics injured fatally. One of them helped Charles to reach her and he knelt down to caress her hair. Suddenly, to his surprise, her eyes opened tiredly and she managed to smile weakly.

’Love you!’ she uttered in a failing gasp. ’Love you always!’ For a few seconds her eyelids fluttered and then she smile slipped slowly from her face. At the same time, the slip rise and fall of her bosom ceased, and the drum of her pulse faded into oblivion. She was gone!

He took her hand gently into his own and started to weep, slowly at first and then uncontrollably. The tears fell in a constant flow down his cheeks freezing on the ground as they dripped from his chin. How cruel to lose someone so dear to him... how painful to lose a wife, a lover, a close friend, a soul-mate so quickly in such a horrendous manner. He looked around as if to face the offending driver to condemn him for his actions but the man wasn’t there. He had taken the coward’s way out and had driven off to avoid any blame.

The neighbours tried to lead him away but he remained firm. He held her hand for the very last time knowing that rigor mortis would soon set in and she would become as cold as the ice around him. Nor could he tear his eyes away from her beautiful face. In the end, it took two able-bodied men to haul him away from the body and help him on his way home.

In the days and weeks that followed, he never failed to blame himself. If only he had acted like a gentleman to walk on the outside of the pavement, as gentlemen did, instead of allowing Jennifer to hug the kerb! Had he done so, he would have been the victim and she would still be alive. The sacrifice would have been readily made. Why didn’t he keep the dog on a tighter leash to prevent the animal from breaking free? He reckoned that he had acted negligently which made him responsible for the disaster. How could fate be so discriminating? Far better had the truck mowed them both down, then neither would be left to mourn. It was so cruel to take the life of one and leave the other behind. The truck chose that moment to skid on to the pavement. It could have done so at any point where no one would be hurt. Fate had deliberately taken a hand in Jennifer’s death which, ostensibly, would have been avoided had they left their bungalow just a few minutes earlier or later. But hindsight was a fallacious past-time because it failed to resolve anything!

The funeral took place five days later. It was bitterly cold a miserable windy day with a dull grey sky fitting only for a funeral.

Almost every member of both families, young and old, in addition to friends and neighbours, attended the ceremony to pay their last respects to the young woman. It was a tragedy which reverberated through two family trees. They crammed into the small local church to listen to the priest as he related the good important features about the life of the deceased. Charles sat in the front pew, perfectly still, listening to the words bravely without a sign of emotion on his face. It was a day that he would never forget but, for the last five days he had dreaded its arrival. After the service, he stumbled solemnly out into the churchyard to walk unsteadily behind the coffin, numbly, without accepting the reality of the situation. He could not envisaged his loved one being covered by earth in the ground where her flesh would rot, leaving nothing but a skeleton. It was too horrific! After the priest had uttered another short prayer, he watched the coffin being laid to rest by means of stout ropes into the cavity provided, and threw a few handfuls of dirt on top of it. As soon as they left the church, the families, friends and neighbours returned to the bungalow for the wake. The neighbours had been outstanding in their efforts to assist him, having prepared the tables with a variety of food in his absence.

‘Don’t worry, old man,’ consoled an aged well-meaning cousin. ‘Time’s a great healer. You wait and see. You may think the advice is poor at the moment because you feel so miserable but the years pass by very quickly. Too quickly, I can tell you. Yes... time’s a great healer!’

Charles stared at him dismally without speaking as saliva filled his throat and threatened to choke him. It hardly mattered what anyone said. Nothing would ever heal his heart in respect of this tragedy. He comforted himself that Jennifer would always be with him in thought if not in substance and, whatever might happen in life from that moment onwards, he would never forget her.

’It’s all written up there,’ confided an old aunt, as she attempted to eat a second piece of cake with her third cup of tea. ’There’s nothing any of us can do because it’s all in the great plan of life set out for us from the moment that we’re born. It only causes aggravation if we try to change it. That’s for sure!’

There was little doubt that Charles despised their presence. They had never visited him or Jennifer before and they were unlikely to come to his home again. They were using the occasion to meet other members of the family and to scoff the refreshments. One could choose one’s friends but you were stuck with family! It seemed to be such indecent behaviour when Jennifer was dead and her body buried in the ground. By tomorrow, as far as they were all concerned, it would simply be a matter of history. Nothing more, nothing less. In truth, he wanted to be alone so that he could think about his wife, cherishing all those wonderful moments they had shared together. With this horrid crowd around him, he didn’t seem to be able to think at all!

‘Life goes on,’ philosophised an uncle who had seen too many relatives and friends face a similar end. ‘Memories are important but you mustn’t dwell too much in the past. If you do, you become a slave to it and gradually die inside. Only you will know what really happened. So don’t forget. Life goes on!’

After they had all gone, Charles realised that the man had touched a nerve. There were memories... perhaps too many memories... of love and life, of sadness and joy... which had all been cut short by a hit-and-run driver. Then he began the familiar path of blaming the driver for being devoid of conscience, then the dog for racing across the road, and finally for himself for being the guilty party to her demise. At the end of the day, it hardly mattered whose fault it had been. Jennifer was dead and nothing could ever bring her back to life again! She had been a woman in a million. A rare precious person who could never be replaced by anyone else. The Gods had allowed him to sip the cup of sweetness and then had dashed it to pieces before his eyes. The had taken her back!

He recalled the words of a young relative on Jennifer’s side who had told him: ‘My advice is to forget her as quickly as possible. Find someone else. The world is full of lovely women. Someone else is waiting to offer you love and affection. Find her. Start a family. A man without a woman is life without aggravation. As hunters, men need that aggravation. It’s part of our genetic make-up.’

People were so free with advice they would never take themselves. They were never satisfied unless governing or directing the lives of others. They were always too eager to offer suggestions, pass on gossip, make assumptions, and relate old wives’ tales which had stood the test of time. When tragedy occurred, they seemed to believe that the mourner was incapable of reaching any decision regarding his or her future life... let alone the right one!

‘You’re young,’ suggested a distant cousin. ‘Make a new life for yourself. Sell up, move away and start all over again. It’s best that way, If you’ll stay you’ll be bogged down with sad memories. Take my advice and start a new life. It isn’t good to shut yourself away . At your age, you have all the advantages ahead of you. Make the most of them!’

Charles mused that they probably had