The Starlings & Other Stories by Murder Squad & Accomplices

Author:Murder Squad & Accomplices
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Graffeg
Published: 2015-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

SORTED

TOBY FORWARD

She just walked out on him.

They hadn’t even had an argument, let alone a row.

The note she left was clear enough about what was happening, but gave no clue about why.

‘I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.’

Ben put the camera bag on the bed and checked the wardrobe, even though he knew what he was going to find. His things were there. Hers weren’t.

No point in looking in the bathroom.

The room still smelled of her.

He loved that moment, early in the day, when the room was filled with scent. That was the thing about living with a woman. The world smelled better. One of the things, anyway.

He rang her mobile and shrugged when it went straight to voicemail.

She probably had a new one anyway. She was a planner and whatever it looked like, this was planned.

Three hours ago, they had sex. She licked his neck. She folded him to her as she always did, and she knew, even at that moment, she knew that when he came back to the room after his run, she would be gone.

How long had she been planning it? How many times had she opened herself to him, when she had no love for him, because she didn’t want him to know she was about to leave?

He rang her again, and this time he waited for the message to end and he said, in a low voice that wouldn’t carry through the bedroom wall, ‘I wouldn’t follow you if you begged me, you mad tart. Don’t flatter yourself. I’m staying ‘til Saturday. Make sure you’re not in when I get back, Becks, or you’ll wish you fucking weren’t.’

His breath was jerky and he lay down on the unmade bed. Would she ever hear it?

Becks. The planner.

By now her mobile might be in a recycling bin somewhere. New phone. New sim card. All the contacts neatly transferred. Except for him.

As he pictured her preparations, ran them through his mind, his body tensed. He played the movie in his head. Her pleasure at the process.

How many times had they sat at the kitchen table, making plans? Him with a bottle of chilled beer. Becks with a notepad and pen. Lists and flowcharts. He liked that in her. Her efficiency. Her organization. It took the burden off him. They usually ended up giving up half way and having sex. Then he’d put the television on, have another beer, and leave her to finish the plans. She’d get it all done, look over at him, smile and say, ‘Sorted’.

Not this time.

He couldn’t stay lying down.

Not now.

He sprang from the bed, jarring his heel as he landed awkwardly. Fuelled by the ever-renewable energy of anger. He picked up the camera bag, started to unzip it and then threw it back on to the bed.

Becks. The planner.

He could plan as well.

He stripped off, dipping his head to sniff the sweat of his armpits. Naked, he took the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and opened the door to hook it on the handle, half-hoping someone would pass and see him.

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