Page 62 of Vengeance is Mine

The small hallway led to a living room. She pushed open the door and stopped dead in the doorway. The room was a mess. The widescreen TV had been pulled off the wall. The sofa had been overturned and the coffee table smashed.

‘Oh my God,’ Dawn said to herself. ‘Dad!’ she called out.

She went all the way into the room and surveyed the damage. There wasn’t a single item of furniture that wasn’t broken or damaged in some way. She rummaged around in her pocket and pulled out her phone. With shaking hands, she dialled her mother, who answered on the second ring.

‘Mum, it’s me. I’m at Dad’s. I think there’s been a break-in.’

‘What? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’m in the living room. It’s a mess, Mum. It’s been completely destroyed.’

‘Oh my God, that’s awful. Where’s your dad?’

‘I don’t know. He’s not here,’ she said, as she walked through the living room to the kitchen. The back door leading to the garden was wide open. She looked out but didn’t see anything. ‘What shall I do, Mum? Should I call the police?’

‘Have you tried calling your dad?’

Dawn went back into the living room and stopped. Straight ahead, behind the table, on the floor, she found her father. He was lying in the corner, slumped against the wall. His face was a patchwork of cuts and bruises, and a large carving knife was sticking out of his chest.

‘Dawn? Are you there? Dawn?’

Dawn stood frozen, staring at the father she had known for less than a year. There was nothing she could say.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Barbara White looked around the living room. It seemed bigger now the Christmas decorations had been taken down. She was relieved the festivities were over with for another year. Christmas was always a difficult time for her, even after all these years. She went into the kitchen and looked out of the window at the bleak landscape. The lawn was white with a layer of frost, the trees were bare, the thick gnarly branches reaching up into the sky, like cold, naked arms. On the ground, pathetic twigs stuck out of the soil. It was hard to believe, a few months ago, they were resplendent rosebushes, standing proud, their sweet-smelling scent floating on the warm summer breeze. Now, the ravages of winter had decimated the garden she loved. It would be ages before she’d be able to get out there and bring it back to life. The winter was dragging on, and there was no end in sight.

She released a heavy sigh. Turning her back on the window, she flicked the kettle on, looked at the kitchen and wondered when was the last time it had been decorated. It had to be nearly ten years ago. Maybe she should take advantage of being kept indoors on these cold January days and give the house a makeover.

The front door opened and slammed closed.

‘Barbara, are you in?’ Harry called from the hallway.

‘Of course I’m in. I’m always in,’ she replied. There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

Harry and Barbara would be celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary in August. As much as Barbara wanted to look forward to a lavish celebration, she couldn’t help remembering those who should be part of it and wouldn’t be. She couldn’t have expected her mother to still be alive, but her sister should be, and her daughter definitely should be.

At six foot one, Harry stood a good eight inches taller than Barbara. He was wrapped up against the elements in a long beige overcoat, thick grey trousers and grey walking shoes. His woollen gloves, scarf and matching hat were all in the same tired-looking dull grey. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Seventies Littlewoods catalogue.

‘It’s parky out there,’ he said, slamming the two heavy carrier bags on the table.

Barbara went over to unpack them.

‘What have I told you about buying Christmas food?’ she admonished, pulling out a Christmas pudding.

‘It was on offer. Only a pound.’

‘Don’t you think we’ve eaten enough of this stuff already?’ She pulled out three boxes of mince pies and a Christmas cake.

‘They’ll keep.’

‘The shops love people like you. It’s their own fault they have to reduce these things. If the prices weren’t so high in the first place, they wouldn’t have so many left over.’

‘They’re bargains.’

‘We don’t even like Christmas cake. It’s not a bargain if it’s just going to take up space in the cupboard gathering dust.’ She began putting the useless shopping away, slamming doors and drawers closed.

‘I bought this for you, too,’ he said with a grin, pulling out a dark Chocolate Orange. ‘Only one pound fifty.’