Seethings

By Michael Forman

Suffering from a troubled marriage, professional wedding photographer Mitchell Felding finds solace in a new hobby, lightning photography. During the night shoots, he sets up his camera on the outskirts of the city to capture the best lightning strike of all. Alas, the perfect shot eludes him. The results are as frustrating as the marriage he has with his wife Samantha.

A morning news broadcast reports a death during the night. The story piques Mitchell’s interest. A woman’s body is discovered after a night of wild thunderstorms. The victim’s face looks vaguely familiar but Samantha is dismissive of her husband’s curiosity. She’s dismissive of most things her husband does.

Counsellor Tony has been trying to unravel the Felding mess for four years. Progress is slow. One day, Mitchell arrives announced at Tony’s office to express his thoughts, including the mystery face he saw in the news article. The information he gives Tony is a revelation. Mitchell may know a killer who is extremely close to him.

Four more bodies will be found and it’ll be up to Mitchell to face the fury of the storm and locate The Beast on the other side of it. Somewhere inside that tempest is an answer – to everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Forman
• Release date: May 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463697542

Michael Forman

Michael began writing copy for newspapers in the early ’90s.“As a photographer with a growing collection of travel photographs, I began writing copy to get them published. I sold my first story to a major Australian newspaper in 1994. Since then, my work has been printed in United Kingdom and New Zealand.”-Michael FormanMichael became the recipient of a diploma: Photography with Journalism.Seethings became an entirely new writing project.... one that didn’t require a camera at all. It was to become a novel.“I was itching to expand my creative horizons by using self-directed characters and narratives, drawing pictures with words not film.”-Michael FormanSeethings and Waves of Darkness are the first two books of a trilogy – a darker look at love, marriage, sex and photography. It’s about a photographer who’s eager to shoot the perfect thunderstorm but ends up inside a storm of the psychological kind.The narrative places the reader at a cliff on the banks of the Brisbane River. A body is found near the Story Bridge by morning joggers after a night of wild thunderstorms.Get ready for twists that will bend your senses!(Podcast Avail: Use 'The Dirty Rabbit Hole Podcast' as search criteria in your favorite casting app.)

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SEETHINGS

Michael Forman

Copyright © 2023 Michael Forman

All rights reserved.

Site: www.michaelformanwriting.com

‘I and the public know what all

schoolchildren learn—those to whom evil is done,

do evil in return.’ -WH Auden

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

At times, SEETHINGS wasn’t easy to write. My thanks go to those encouraging few who inspired me to persist.

Thanks to: Lori Beeton, Graeme and Hilary on ‘Portland Lady’ at Scarborough Marina, Catherine Mellers, Kevin Seymour, Deborah Law, Mark Weiss, Sharon Jewel, Louis Spann and Peter Elvison. An extra special mention must also go to Lin Hall for working on the novel’s technical edits who passed before he finished the work. Lin, if you’re up there and listening, I hope this one does you justice. My writing skills are better for your guidance and diligence.

Finally, I’d like to thank my partner Margo, for putting up with my rants and obsessions during the novel’s development. You’re the reason why the world is able to read this story. Thank you, my dear. If the novel is as successful as you are patient, then I know it’ll be a success. –M

PROLOGUE

It's challenging to provide precise and up-to-date statistics on sexless marriages because the definition of a sexless marriage can vary, and data collection methods may differ across studies. Additionally, societal attitudes toward discussing and reporting on sexual issues can influence the accuracy of the data.

Historically, estimates have suggested that around 15-20% of marriages may be considered sexless, with varying thresholds for what constitutes a lack of sexual activity. However, these figures can change over time and may not fully capture the complexity of individual relationships.

A marriage without sex can have consequences for the individuals involved:

Communication breakdown.

Emotional distancing.

Impact on self-esteem.

Infidelity.

Frustration.

Resentment.

Resentment and frustration are risk factors for increasing tensions. As conflict grows in the relationship, the pressure may break out in one of many forms. Some couples will endure lengthy silences while others will share harsh comments of criticism. Argumentative spouses will shed their emotions in loud, angry words.

In rare cases, these escalations can have violent repercussions.

This is one such story that ventures here.

But it’s not what you think.

It’s more.

CHAPTER ONE

She’s in fine form once again. I had hoped that she wouldn’t be coming to this year’s party. The humid night air is no match for the fiery venom pouring out of the mouth of the obese, vulgar, woman on the opposite side of the table. That half-masticated piece of cow, she’s been chewing on, rolls between one fattened, wobbly, jowl and the other, its red juice spits forward and dribbles down her chin as she shouts her opinion to all and sundry.

As always, the crowd is mesmerized. It’s not because they enjoy her company. It’s because they have no choice. This poor excuse for a human steals all of their attention as she drowns them in vile and toxic conversation, scandalous gossip, abusive language, bloodied rare steak, and red wine. She’s had some encouragement—an empty bottle of bourbon sits in front of her and a freshly opened bottle of red sits beside it. A half-glass of it lunges forward in her puffy left hand to every offensive word uttered, every disgusting punch line to every dirty joke that slips past that mash of meat. I’ve never met a woman so abusively offensive.

She’s an unwelcome sight too. Some of that wiry, unkempt, jet-black hair are pulled back, grouped into what loosely looks like a ponytail, while the rest falls about in disorganized tufts around her head and face. Silvery roots lead the hairline at the front, indicating that the dye job hasn’t been maintained. It also suggests that this feisty woman is much older than she looks and, if the colour were to grow out naturally, it would add another twenty years to her appearance, turning her into the old maid she’s fast trying to avoid being.

A plunging, square-neckline, exposes what resembles two enormous walruses. The pale, veiny, giants meet at a very obvious and deep crevice, then down and across to two pink places that peek out each time she laughs raucously. It’s a hideously short, black, number, hardly appropriate for someone her size. Most likely she bullied a shop assistant into selling it to her as no one with any fashion sense would concur that this choice of dress was a flattering one.

Maxine Sewell sees herself as one of the in-crowd. She dresses in young clothes and speaks like a teenager, although it’s been well over thirteen years since she was one. And, just like a teenager, she’s immature, speaks at the most inappropriate times. She demands attention, especially from the boys. Baring those big tits are just one of the many weapons she has in her tawdry arsenal to ensure she gets it. There’s that mouth too, like a shotgun blasting its way into everyone’s chatter, spoiling the atmosphere, silencing everyone at once.

Turn it up! she bellows, dribbling wine from her mouth, sucking it back before it runs too far. Fucking turn it up! I love this one!

Maxine cut Sharon off in mid-sentence. As she wipes the mess dribbling from her chin with the back of her wrist, Sharon is left speechless. What’s to happen next? Sharon’s new to these little Christmas parties of ours, which means she’s new to Maxine’s ways. It’s not like she shouldn’t know about Maxine. Surely, she’s heard enough through the grapevine. If anyone deserves to be talked about, it’s Maxine. I’ve never understood why budding photographers are so attracted to her. She’s never friendly to them. She walks all over them and treats them as though they don’t exist. Perhaps it’s because Maxine must look like our leader. How wrong they are!

Sharon is small-fry so Maxine wouldn’t see her in her viewfinder unless she had something to gain from it. Nevertheless, Sharon’s keen to impress. It’s her first social event since turning professional and she’s excited to be here. She tries to speak again, but Maxine’s not interested.

Who gives a fuck… is it Sharon? That’s your name, right? Yeah, well, just shut up for a bit! I’ve gotta hear this song! Turn it up Julie! I love this song!

Poor Sharon, she never stood a chance. A self-absorbed narcissist like Maxine couldn’t care less about anyone other than herself. She’s utterly tactless. We’ve all experienced her vicious tongue at one time or another. When a thought pops into her mind, she never tempers it a bit. It comes out as it’s made, raw and unfiltered. Maxine thinks that her abruptness is a positive trait, a good sign of honesty, a redeeming quality rarely seen in others. She says that men prefer honest women over those lying little bitches who spend all their time in front of mirrors, gawking at their beauty. It doesn’t explain why, at thirty-two, she’s single and can’t keep a man. Maybe it explains it well.

Jules! I said turn it up! Fuck! Can’t you hear me?

I’d feel sorry for any man who tried to challenge Maxine.

Jules!

Julie-Anne is Maxine’s best friend. She’s the host of this get-together. The two of them are as thick as thieves and they’ve been like that since they met two years ago. They party together and gossip all the time. In many ways, Julie-Anne is Maxine, only quieter and more intelligent. She loves the limelight too but, rather than bulldozing her way across others, she delicately takes time to assess the social landscape before opening her mouth. She’s the most attractive woman at the party. She has amazing legs and a tiny waist to suit. Everyone knows that if Maxine and Julie-Anne weren’t in the same business, they’d never be friends. She is one of those blonde-haired, mirror-loving bitches that Maxine despises.

They are a contradiction, but we all know that Julie-Anne has something Maxine wants. Julie-Anne knows photography and she has all the contacts in this business. That’s why Maxine persists. She makes use of Julie-Anne’s scraps.

Julie-Anne’s been in the kitchen for most of the night preparing food for the rest of us and that’s just how Maxine likes it. With Julie-Anne’s shapely legs out of the way, Maxine’s free to command as much attention as she likes. Julie-Anne can’t hear Maxine calling her because the stereo inside the house is loud. There’s no response, so nothing happens.

Sharon makes another attempt to speak, Have you ever used—

Oh, you silly girl. You’re such a slow learner.

No Sharon! I’ve never fucking used whatever it is you’re using! And I don’t care what you use. Will you hold on for just one minute? Just hold on! You’ll get your chance! Jules? Can you hear me in there?

That woman’s mouth is worse than a grumpy Monday morning tradesman. Maxine rotates her large head over one shoulder, Hey Jules! Whatcha doin’ in there? Rewind it! Turn it up!

Julie-Anne notices and comes to the kitchen window. What? Did you call me?

Did I call you? I’ve been calling out for the last five minutes! Rewind this song and turn it up! I love this one!

Maxine points a finger upwards. Julie-Anne nods once and makes her way to the living room. When did Julie-Anne become Maxine’s bitch? Obviously, Julie-Anne’s getting something out of this relationship too.

The music stops and starts over. We all wait so that Maxine can sing along to Wide Open Spaces. She drunkenly sways from side to side, bellowing out some speculative notes, slurping and sucking on her wine glass between verses. The glass forms many dribble trails along its edge, one for each sip. It’s an apt song. That mouth has some available, wide-open, space going on, and, judging by the stories she tells us about her love life, she’s got another. She’s always said that she was a pretty good singer in her younger years but I can’t hear it. Actually, she says she’s good at many things but if she’s as good at them as she is at singing and photography, clearly, she isn’t good at much.

It’s social disgrace that brought her to the world of wedding photography. She’d disagree of course. She says that all her life she’s wanted to be a wedding photographer. It’s all bullshit. Sit down and drink with her for a while and you’ll get another story. It turns out that she’s tried her hand at many things but every pursuit has ended the same way. She’d find a new job, settle into it, pursue a male colleague or client, bed the guy and, when it all ended, she’d lash out and burn everything and everyone in the process.

She’s actually a trained teacher’s aide. Photography was just a hobby. She’d been doing the Deputy Principal of the school and then messed things up when it ended. Her contract was suddenly terminated and she found herself unemployed. One day, while searching for new a job, a call came in from a needy girlfriend desperately seeking cheap wedding photography. Maxine hadn’t shot anything more than a few sunsets and flowers but she managed to convince the bride-to-be to give her a go. Maxine did the wedding, along with one of the groomsmen. The bride absolutely loved the results—of the photos of course. Why wouldn’t she? She paid practically nothing for them and had some free gossip thrown into the package as well. Maxine proudly boasted about her wonderfully creative and innovative style and had a batch of business cards printed on the following Monday. She introduced herself to anyone who’d listen, as a professional photographer.

Apart from her client, no one’s seen any of those photos but I can tell you this: there’s no creativeness in anything she does. Mostly, she copies what all the rest of us are doing and she does it badly.

She says she’s in love with weddings. It’s true. She’s attracted to them. She loves the dresses, the champagne, the gorgeous girls, the champagne, the high-heeled shoes, the champagne, the celebration and even more champagne. Her love is so great that sometimes she falls down and has to catch a taxi home. Maxine isn’t in love with photographing weddings, she’s in love with the love story. She’s not married so being a part of someone else’s day is the next best thing. She met Julie-Anne at a photography convention and immediately invited herself to Julie-Anne’s home for drinks. During a series of wild nights, she siphoned off as much information as she could about the business and the people within it. What Julie-Anne imparted was almost criminal. There should be laws against size twenty-two women serving drinks to their size eight girlfriends.

#

The song finishes. Thank god that’s over!

Maxine waits for applause but when nothing happens, she stretches an arm out as if to encourage it. How pathetic. A handful of people make a noise but it’s done only to acknowledge her and return to their conversations. She clenches down on the ball of meat that’s still in her mouth, Play it again Jules! They love me!

There’s a murmur but none agree.

Play it again Jules! They love me. This time I’ll do it fuckin’ properly!

Please don’t Maxine—why won’t she take a hint?

She swallows the bolus, forcing it down in one gulp, the lump, struggling to move, causes her to gag. She ignores the irritation and struggles to heave that enormous frame to its feet, coughing and gagging all the way. She rises and swallows again, this time the lumpy mass begins to make its way awkwardly down her throat. Unfortunately, it passes without incident. Damn!

Okay. I’ll sing this like I would’ve done when I had my band. Jules, you got that song ready? Okay, everyone shut up now. The song’s gonna start. I need to concentrate. You got it ready yet Jules? Okay? One, two, three, go!

She staggers and readies herself for the song’s introduction but the music doesn’t come. There’s only silence. She turns and yells again, Fuck Jules! We’re waitin’ out here! Come on!

Come on Julie-Anne. Let’s get this over with.

From where I’m sitting, I can see Julie-Anne rushing about busily pressing buttons. She turns around and calls out something. Maxine sways a little and turns back towards us, reaches for the bottle of red, and pours herself another glass. With any luck, Julie-Anne’s broken the machine.

Maxine leans forward and in a sotto voice says, You can’t ask blondes to do anything, can you? They’re so fuckin’ stupid, eh? They can’t work anything out. Jeeeezuss, Julie’s the worst.

The group chuckles quietly, however I doubt they’re laughing with her.

We have four blondes at this party tonight. One is my partner, another is Sharon the new girl next to Maxine and Jenny, Maxine’s little protégé. The last one is Julie-Anne, supposedly her best friend. I look past Nina, towards Doug, watching him slowly shake his head from side to side.

The song starts over and this time it’s louder. Maxine’s less in tune than before and even more wine sprays across the table. We have the Dixie Chicks to thank for that. The music ends and she’s thrilled with herself.

Fuck I rock! Don’t I fucking rock everyone?

Sit down Maxine!

Andrew’s had enough and he’s the first one to speak out. It’s about time someone did.

But I was good Andrew.

Sit down Maxine. Not everyone wants to listen to that. They came for a Christmas party, not a concert from you.

Amen to that.

Andrew is Maxine’s ongoing love interest. They’ve been dating off and on for a while and she’s never understood why Andrew won’t take it seriously. She remains confident, therefore hangs on his every word. Andrew’s never going to commit, he knows her too well.

Mitchell thinks I’m good, don’t you Mitchell?

Surely I shouldn’t be put in such a position to answer that, should I? She points to me and stares, waiting for my response, Well?

Actually—

Before I utter another word, she snaps, Oh go fuck yourself Mitchell!

I knew it. It’s the wrong answer. She turns to Darren and asks him the same question.

Andrew cuts in, Sit down Maxine!

But I—

Sit! He demands, snapping his fingers, pointing at her chair. Like a master ordering his hound to obey, he waits for his command to take effect.

Down!

Maxine ceases yelling but she doesn’t sit right away. Instead, she turns and glares at him. She wants to speak. I can see the fire burning behind her eyes. What could she possibly say to him? He’s the only real prospect she’s had in five years. She wouldn’t dare ruin her chances by tossing him a few of her choice words. Unperturbed, he continues pointing. It’s a stand-off. Everyone’s captivated. She slowly rotates her heavy face away from Andrew back towards me, Well Mitchell, you sit there with that smug look on your—

Down! He orders again. The head snaps back.

This is brilliant and Doug is smiling broadly. I feel my own cheeks beginning to lift too. She’s probably busting to give Andrew a piece of her mind. She blinks, sways a little, lifts her wine glass to her lips, downs the rest in one go and collapses back into her chair. Furiously, she rattles the base of the glass onto the top of the table. While Andrew remains single and available, he wields power over her. It must be torturous for Maxine to keep her mouth shut. Just superb!

The partygoers return to their conversations and I notice her angry, bloodshot eyes staring back at me between the bottles in front of her. It’s not over yet, not by a long shot. This wasn’t about singing or photography matters. Tonight, it’s about staring me down and finding out why I didn’t come alone. She’s thought there might’ve been a chance for us. Andrew is off limits. He’s off to meet another hot date once this party ends. All of the other men are spoken for and Maxine’s annoyed because there’s a real possibility that she’ll be going home alone—again.

Yes, I’ve been on Maxine’s to-do list for quite some time. Regardless of her desire to pursue Andrew, she’s made it known to me many times that if I ever needed someone to bounce off she’d be the first one to make the jump. She assumes that I’d leap her way. What a joke. I’ve never given her any reason to believe this. But what’s made Maxine so angry towards me is that I brought a mystery guest along. She’s not my wife and it appears I’m not available either. There’s only one thing Maxine hates more than playing second fiddle to another woman and that’s not knowing to whom she’s losing. Maxine hates being left out of any loop. When we arrived, Nina smiled and just said hello. She’s said little ever since. I’d strategically placed her between Douglas and myself to keep her from having to deal with Maxine or Julie-Anne’s probing personalities. Doug doesn’t care much for Maxine’s nonsense. In fact, he’s all about misinforming both of them as much as he can. He’s done a good job so far.

Nina leans over to me and asks in a whisper, Why is she like that?

Low esteem.

I’ve never seen anyone behave like that before.

Don’t worry. She probably won’t remember most of it tomorrow.

I think I’d want to forget too.

Julie-Anne slides the screen door back, Okay, everything’s ready. Just pick up a plate at the end of the table and serve yourself.

We slide our chairs from underneath the table and rise, but not Maxine. She remains in her seat and begins to cut herself another portion of that very rare steak in front of her.

How come she got served first? whispers Nina.

She wouldn’t fit through the door. I guess. It had to come to her.

Nina smiles as we step inside. Maxine’s voice bellows out again from behind us, Julie-Anne! Julie sweets! Could ya git me some more… ’slaw… ya know… while ya’re up?

Sure Maxine darl. How’s that steak?

Through another mouthful of blood, she replies, Bloody great! Jus’ th’ way I like ‘it! I could eat a horse!

I whispered to Nina, A-ha! I knew a horse could fit inside a cow.

Giggling, Stop it. That’s nasty.

Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.

I can’t believe… you know… how horrible she is. Is she always like this?

No. Usually she vomits by now.

What? You’re kidding, right? No. Really? Are you serious? Vomit? Like a bulimic?

Maxine? Bulimic? Please—look at the size of her.

You know what I mean!

Well, in a way, you’re right. She’ll throw up just so she can go on partying. That way, she won’t collapse and miss any of the juicy gossip that’s on offer. She’s got no class whatsoever.

I shouldn’t say so, I mean… I don’t even know her but I think I agree.

Don’t say anything to anyone about us okay? If you do, you won’t get rid of her.

You know that they’re going to ask anyway.

Yes, but tell them you’re my cousin or something.

Your cousin?

What about being my hairdresser? Tell them that. It’ll throw her off the scent.

Hairdresser? That’s silly. Don’t worry. It’s easier if I don’t say anything at all. You know me, the less people know about me, the less I have to explain.

We grab a couple of plates and shuffle along, filling them as we go.

So, what would you say to them if they asked you? she asks.

Oh I don’t know, maybe something like, oh I found her in the street and thought I’d take her home with me.

In the street?

No?

No, you silly man. You should already know by now that I’m actually more of a back-alley kind of girl.

Oh yes. You’re a back-alley girl. Your back-alley is a bit of alright.

Mitchell!

Doug’s head appears between us, Everything okay?

Umm… Mitchell was just saying how nice all this food looks.

You best keep that kind of talk to yourselves. You don’t want that lot getting their claws into it. You won’t live it down once they know. He turns his head sideways and lifts his chin in the direction of Maxine, That one will have a field day if she gets a hold of anything.

He steps back into line and Nina places her hand over her mouth. Whispering, Oh my God, he heard us. She giggles cheekily and hides her face behind my shoulder.

Doug steps in again, Personally, I don’t care, but they do. They’ve got nothing better to do than to poke around in everyone else’s business. So watch out. You’re in their sights.

It’s good advice. Maxine and Julie-Anne always have their talons at the ready. It’s a sport for them to find out as much as they can about the lives of others. The more sordid, the more attractive it is and ours is just that. We return to our seats with our plates full of food and begin eating, keeping to ourselves, watching and listening to the others talk around us, about their lives, their businesses and the plans they have for the Christmas holidays.

Maxine’s eyes constantly dart across the table, studying our movements, looking for signs that might give something away. Nina can’t be a family member of mine, she’s far too attentive and affectionate. The curiosity must be eating Maxine’s insides.

The party’s been going well and I’ve enjoyed watching Maxine fester. The meal is good too and the group has settled. Everything is fine until Maxine decides it’s time to ask the question that’s been bugging her all night. Sooo… Nina… what d’ ya do? Where d’ ya come from? Are you… ph’togr’pher ’s well?

You’d think a bottle of spirits and a couple of bottles of wine would’ve stopped her. It’d bring a rhinoceros to the ground.

Silence falls over the table. Maxine knows damn well that Nina isn’t a photographer. If she was, Julie-Anne would’ve said so already. Doug interrupts, Nina’s just lost her mother Maxine. She’s not up to it. Will you leave her alone, okay?

What? Who died? Ahh, good old Doug! There he is again... saving the day. Good one mate! That should stop Maxine. I bet the rest of that lot is disappointed.

Wha’? Die? Wha’? Naaah! She doesn’t loo’ sad to me. She’s fine. You’re jus’ pullin’ my—

Andrew barks, Maxine!

Wha’? But she—

Just eat!

But—

I’ve told you once, I won’t tell you again. Be nice. Go back to your food and wine. She’s just lost her mother. You heard that clearly enough. Everyone heard it. It’s time to be quiet now.

Maxine turns to Julie-Anne for support, Nah… does she loo’ sad to y’ Jules, huh?

Julie may be her friend, but she’s not stupid. She may want to know what’s going on too but she’s not going to ask for a death certificate to prove if it’s true or not. A tiny whimper comes from beside me and then Nina’s head flops down onto my right shoulder. She bawls out aloud. Doug grabs a napkin off the table and hands it to her. Doug turns to Maxine, Now look what you’ve done, you callous creature! Have you no decency or respect? Why does it always have to be about you?

I hold Nina and she covers her face with the napkin. It’s an act! I suspect that this has been all Doug’s doing. In the softest, most apologetic voice I think I’ve heard Maxine ever use she says, Oh, I’m so, so sorry… I had no idea, love.

I can’t remain quiet, Look, why don’t you just mind your own business? You’ve done quite enough. You always do this shit! It took me a lot to talk her into coming out tonight and now you’re ruining it. She didn’t come here to be harassed by the likes of you.

I’m sorry… but… I… I said I wa’ sorry. Wha’ else c’n I do?

You can be quiet now. That’s what else you can do!

Maxine is silenced. No one runs to her defence, not even Julie-Anne. Of course, none of it’s true, but the bitch from hell had been put in her place, along with those nosey acolytes of hers who always sit in the wings, waiting to jump onboard and scratch about whenever the dirt is stirred. Julie-Anne, Donna, Bronwyn and that new recruit Jenny will have to choose another time to dig. Doug is a genius. There’s no defence against death.

With the group slowly finishing their meals, the party mellows. Doug breaks the silence, What about that guy in Jimboomba who killed his wife last night? Terrible, wasn’t it?

The one who hit his wife with a bat? asks Jenny.

No, replies Sharon, That’s the one from the other night. This one used a knife, remember? He stabbed her several times. The neighbours said that he had been threatening her heaps of times with a baseball bat before that.

Oh yeah. That’s the one with the trampy-looking wife, right?

Yeah, it’s funny you said that because that’s what I thought—all that makeup and no teeth—gross! Anyway, those neighbours said that they could hear their arguments from next door. Apparently, they’d been arguing for years.

Julie-Anne reacts, Oh my God. Why didn’t they see it coming then? Why didn’t they do anything about it before this? But did you see that guy they interviewed, you know, the other neighbour from across the street? How creepy was he?

Oh yeah, he was scary. He kept doing that thing, you know, licking his hand and wiping his comb-over with the spit. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in on it too. He gave me the creeps.

Rachael, a redhead, who had made a special trip in from the west, suddenly piped up from the darkened extremities of the deck, He was a freak. They should hang that rotten husband up by his balls, if you ask me.

Hang on, I said squinting into the darkness, trying to make out her face, By his balls Rachael? That’s a bit harsh. What if he didn’t do it?

They all turned to me and stared. "What are you all looking at? It’s only alleged at this point, isn’t it? Nobody’s said