Mine to Avenge

By Chris Marr

A sextet of stories in which shocks abound and secrets are laid bare. In the title story, 'Mine to Avenge', a man with Christian beliefs is consumed with thoughts of revenge. In 'St Patrick's Day', a teenage cleaner begins an affair with her married employer. In 'The Close', a woman is stunned by somethin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Marr
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781739189402

Chris Marr

Chris Marr was born in 1964 and went to school in Hertfordshire. After reading history at the University of Southampton he became a qualified librarian, worked full-time as an IT system administrator at The Times, before devoting himself to bringing up two children.

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MINE TO AVENGE

By

Chris Marr

Copyright © Chris Marr, 2022

The right of Chris Marr to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is sold subject to the condition it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be circulated in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without the publisher’s prior consent.

ISBN 978-1-7391894-0-2

To Barbara

CONTENTS

ST PATRICK’S DAY

MINE TO AVENGE

BANDANA

VISITING DAD

THE CLOSE

NUMBER FORTY-THREE

St Patrick’s Day

PART ONE

Roisin did not hate Evelyn Tennant for some time. Looking back, she could see there were three distinct stages that brought her to the position of wanting her employer dead.

The first stage came as Roisin was finishing work one day. Evelyn had approached her just as she was putting her cleaning utensils away. There had been hints of dissatisfaction earlier. Roisin had heard Evelyn sighing a couple of times, once when she had been dusting the glass table in the living room, and again when she had been mopping the kitchen floor. Evelyn had had two or three drinks already – she drank too much – and was in a bad mood over something to do with her job.

‘You haven’t got a clue, have you?’

Roisin had never seen this side to Evelyn. Well, no, that wasn’t true. She could get shirty with people on the phone. But she had never been like this with her. Evelyn had beautiful green eyes – ‘Irish eyes’, she called them – but they were also strangely cold.

‘Look.’ Evelyn drew a manicured finger along the skirting board, accumulating a ball of dust. ‘And here.’ She indicated a cobweb hanging off a chandelier. ‘You’re not good at things that are high up or low down. Feel under that radiator.’

Roisin did so.

‘You need to wipe the radiators carefully – not just the top and the sides but underneath. And don’t forget the corners of the room. That’s where the air current is the slowest and the dust collects.’

Evelyn led Roisin around the house, pointing out all the places she had missed. The galling aspect about this was that neither she nor her husband were interested in cleaning. Evelyn had told Roisin’s mother that they had a choice of either getting a cleaner or going for couples therapy. A cleaner had seemed like a better investment.

‘A friend of mine noticed dust bunnies on the stairs. She also mentioned the set of silver on the sideboard. She said that with proper care and attention, it should be sparkling.’

There was no end, it seemed, to Roisin’s shortcomings. Evelyn had had a shower that morning. The top of the shower stall had dust on it. Also, the mirrors in the house were not exactly spotless. You could see the problem with the mirror in the living room if you stood in a certain position.

‘Come here and have a look.’

Roisin was obliged to acknowledge the smudges. The trouble was that no one had taught her how to clean. She had looked on the Internet for tips – reading, for example, that one should regularly change rags – but that had been it. She was the first person to admit that she wasn’t a great cleaner. One only had to look at her bedroom to reach that conclusion.

‘Another thing: the kitchen floor.’

According to Evelyn, Roisin had left ‘puddles of water’ when she had mopped it up earlier. Aside from being a hazard to any unsuspecting member of the household, it meant that the floor, although made of oak, was in danger of being warped.

Why hadn’t Evelyn brought up these issues before? It was as if she had been building a case so that there could be no doubting Roisin’s incompetence. And why not sack her there and then? Was it to prove to the friend who had noticed the dust bunnies, almost certainly Genevieve, that she could turn the situation around? Genevieve was clearly a large part of the reason for this dressing down. Evelyn probably didn’t mind the mess as much as minding what other people thought about it.

‘I’m not having a go at you,’ she said when she was seeing Roisin off. ‘I’m just pointing out how you can improve.’

Roisin walked home, her cheeks still burning with embarrassment. Only now, ten minutes after Evelyn had spoken to her, did it occur to her that she should have offered to tackle the areas around the house she had missed. She had just stood there, mute, not even apologising for her ineptitude. Oh, well. Just leaving without saying anything may have been a mistake, but there was no way she would turn around and head back now.

Her mother had got her the job at the Tennants’ house after chatting to Evelyn at the Social Club. Blake and Evelyn Tennant were an attractive couple in their thirties who lived in an Edwardian house in Cricklewood. At the start of her employment, Evelyn had gone through what she expected, showing her where everything belonged, discussing which cleaning products she would need for which tasks. To Evelyn’s evident satisfaction, Roisin had got the worst of the clutter sorted out on her first visit. It was ‘a miracle’. A fortnight later they had agreed to change Roisin’s working hours, from once a week on Fridays to two hours on Mondays and Thursdays after school. Roisin would walk to Cricklewood after changing at home, a high-rise flat in Kilburn, and dropping off her textbooks.

Did she even wish to continue in the job? Look at what Evelyn had decided not to mention. She had not talked about the bother Roisin went to, picking out the gunk that clogged the sink, placing Evelyn’s undies, which she had left on the floor by the bed, in the linen basket, and hauling the vacuum cleaner up the stairs. A cleaner’s life was not a glamorous occupation. When she wasn’t performing some form of drudgery, such as cleaning the fridge or scouring the oven, Roisin was an eyewitness to Evelyn’s expensive lifestyle, noting, whether she liked it or not, her perfume, her jewellery and her fashionable attire. Evelyn was obsessed with her appearance. In truth, Roisin couldn’t say that she blamed her. Evelyn was very elegant, forking out huge amounts on her hair and clothes. She worked from home part-time as a human resources administrator. From what Roisin could see, however, she didn’t work much at all. Her time was mainly spent on the phone, gossiping.

‘All right, darling?’ her mother greeted her.

‘Not really,’ Roisin replied.

‘Why?’

‘Evelyn had a go at me.’

As expected, her mother came down on her employer’s side. Roisin’s mother, Aileen, was one of those people who judge others purely on their own relationship with that person. It did not matter what else Evelyn had done in her life. What counted was how polite she was to Aileen.

‘You never stick at anything. That’s your trouble.’

Roisin did not have the strength to argue back. Many of her previous jobs had, in fact, been impossible to stick at. She had been a dog walker and a babysitter – roles that required her services infrequently. For a fortnight, she had worked as a barista, replacing her friend, Niamh, who had gone on holiday. The manager had asked if she would be available in the future but, while not saying no, she had not jumped at the opportunity. Possibly, she was overly sensitive to criticism, no matter how ridiculous.

‘What?’ one customer had whinged. ‘You’ve run out of chocolate chip muffins? I’ve been looking forward to that all morning!’

After getting herself something to eat, Roisin did her homework. One way to look at her mother’s attitude was that at least she cared – unlike her father, who lived in Birmingham with his mistress and hadn’t spoken to Roisin in months. Her mother was only forty-four. She had had striking looks when she was younger, but now her features had kind of collapsed.

Yes, Roisin decided, she would pack in the cleaning job. The wages weren’t much in any case. That was probably the reason why Evelyn hadn’t sacked her. She was getting her on the cheap.

*

She stood on the doorstep. It would be awkward talking to Evelyn, but she had her explanation figured out. Year 13 had just begun and there was more work to do than she had bargained for. This wasn’t even untrue. She was starting to worry about her A levels in nine months’ time.

Instead of hearing Evelyn’s high-heeled shoes on the woodwork, however, she heard a more muffled sound. The front door opened, and she was faced with Evelyn’s husband, Blake.

‘Hi, Roisin! Come in! I’m afraid Evelyn isn’t here. Somebody in her company is having a leaving do. Will you be all right on your own?’

She nodded.

‘She’s given me a checklist of all the things I’m supposed to ask you about. Shall we look at it when you’ve got about half an hour to go? That might be the best idea. Do you want a tea or coffee?’

Evelyn had never offered her a drink.

‘No thanks.’

‘All right, I’ll let you get on with it, then. I’ll be up in my man cave if you want to get hold of me.’

Well, this was a piece of luck! Without Evelyn looking over her shoulder, the pressure would be off. Moreover, with half an hour to go, Roisin could tell Blake about her decision to quit. It would be a lot easier talking to him. He had told her in the past that she needn’t bother cleaning his study – or ‘man cave’, as he called it.

She started her work, enjoying the peace and quiet. Interestingly, although Evelyn had noticed the dust on the top of the shower stall and underneath the radiators, she had done nothing about it. She obviously expected Roisin to address those issues.

She bumped into Blake again as he was coming out of the bathroom. She was aware of his size – he was well over six foot – and his aroma. Whatever it was, it was quite pleasant.

‘It’s nice to see the towels neatly folded,’ he said.

He appeared to be as charming as his wife was horrible. His eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

At six o’clock, he invited her to sit down in the living room.

‘I can only apologise for putting you through this rigmarole,’ he said, sitting down opposite and retrieving a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Okey-doke, number one on my list: the silver on the sideboard. Well, I can see from here that it’s sparkling. That’s a big, fat tick. Number two…’

The exercise did not take long. He went through half a dozen items, none of which he checked properly. She could not help noticing his chinos and shirt moulded well with his body. A few days’ growth of stubble gave him a rugged look, which was complemented by a strong jaw.

Lucky old Evelyn! Not only did she have wealth and good looks but she also had a handsome hubby.

‘Fantastic!’ he concluded. ‘You’re doing a brilliant job.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied.

‘Let me get you a tea or coffee. Or do you want to head home?’

‘A cup of tea would be nice.’

She put away her cleaning things in the utility room. She would hand in her notice as soon as the conversation faltered. He was a typical salesperson in that he had the gift of the gab. While he was making the tea in the kitchen, they discussed TV programmes, in particular the Netflix drama, The Queen’s Gambit. He had also read the book and was able to talk about how the series had been made.

‘I was amazed when Evelyn told me you were at school,’ he said, back in the living room. ‘I thought you were much older.’

There was something predatory about the way he looked at her. God, what was happening? Was she attracted to him? He was certainly strong and muscular and had large, powerful-looking hands. If he had wanted to, he could probably crush the china cup he was holding.

‘With a name like Roisin, I’m guessing you’ve got Irish links. Don’t take offence, but what is it with the Irish and alcohol? Evelyn’s family, her Uncle Dara especially, get through the stuff as if it’s going out of fashion. And Evelyn as well – you may have noticed – is partial to the odd drop. I could tell the last time you were here she had started early. I hope you didn’t take anything she said too much to heart.’

Evelyn had obviously told him about her criticisms of Roisin on her last visit. At the time, he had been buried in his study and had probably been unaware of the drama downstairs. In point of fact, she didn’t think Evelyn had had too much to drink, but it was kind of him to explain her grumpiness in such a way. It downplayed Roisin’s deficiencies in the job.

To keep up her side of the conversation, she said that although both her parents were Irish, she didn’t like alcohol. She found the taste bitter. Then, because he seemed interested, she provided more information about herself, about how her mother was bringing her up on her own and about how she was falling behind with her schoolwork.

‘Oh!’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘I’m sorry. I lost track of the time. It’s gone seven o’clock.’

‘Don’t worry. This has been a change from my usual routine.’

To her amazement, he paid her twice the normal amount.

‘Mr Tennant—’

‘Blake.’

‘Blake, I’m sorry, I can’t accept—’

‘Of course you can! Spend it on an evening out with your boyfriend.’

‘I haven’t got a boyfriend.’

‘Are you kidding?’

She shook her head.

‘You amaze me. I would have thought a girl like you must have men falling over her constantly.’

Even at the time she realised that the words were trite. Was he flirting with her? More likely, he was simply teasing her.

Flustered, she headed for the front door.

Oh, that was right! She was going to quit. She would hand back the extra money.

She turned around to find him right behind her. He took hold of both her arms in his strong hands. She was too stunned to do anything, even if she could have done anything, looking into his eyes with their dilated pupils.

Was it possible he really found her attractive?

Bending down, he kissed her on the lips, before gently releasing his grip and moving away.

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,’ he said. ‘You’re so incredibly beautiful.’

He kissed her again, this time more passionately. She felt herself being swept away, her heart rate racing out of control. What was happening? This was wrong. This was sinful. On the other hand, nothing like this had happened to her before. She had had a couple of fumbling sessions with boys her age, but these had been disappointing experiences. In one case, the boy had pressed himself up against her awkwardly. In the other, the boy concerned, who suffered from acne, had shoved his tongue down her throat.

In contrast, this was a man who knew what to do. The excitement level was on a different scale. In a small part of her mind as well was the thought that there could hardly be a better way of getting her own back on Evelyn.

*

Although she didn’t realise it immediately, the embrace with Blake marked stage two in Roisin’s feelings. Evelyn was already an irritant, but now she had become an impediment in her life. Before things could get more intimate with Blake, however, Roisin’s mother called to ask what she wanted for dinner. The price to pay for her mother caring for her was that she always wanted to know where she was – and with whom – at any time of the day.

On this occasion, walking home, she was blushing for a different reason. She replayed her time in the house from the point when Blake had answered the door. With hindsight, he had been angling to seduce her from the outset. Indeed, he had told her in-between kisses that he had been attracted to her from their first encounter.

There was a chemistry between them. Hadn’t she felt it?

In all honesty, she hadn’t felt anything until today. Unlike her friend, Amelia, who seemed to like a multitude of men, there were very few whom she was attracted to. Blake was a handsome man, undoubtedly, but he was still her employer. It was hard to believe he would pay her any attention while she was going around with a mop or a duster. What would happen on her next visit? Would this embrace mark the beginning and end of their relationship? All he had said when she was leaving was that he would talk to her on Monday.

On Saturday, she spoke to Niamh on the phone. Niamh was her equal best friend along with Amelia. The three had known each other since their first day at secondary school. The big news recently had been Amelia’s relationship with a friend of Niamh’s brother, a married man named Rob. Amelia, it was becoming clear, was different to Niamh and Roisin. It was not just that she was from Nigerian descent. She dressed in a risqué fashion and had a more reckless attitude to life.

‘She texted me this morning,’ Niamh said. ‘She’s told her parents that she’s coming round to my house this evening.’

‘But she’s really going out with Rob?’

‘She didn’t say so, but yeah, I bet she is. I know they didn’t see each other on Wednesday.’

Rob coached table tennis at a school on Wednesday evenings. At least that was what he told his wife. According to his version of events, he would often visit the pub afterwards with one of his fellow coaches.

‘I’m not sure I like covering for her,’ Niamh went on. ‘What if her mum or dad call me? What am I supposed to tell them?’

Roisin and Niamh often discussed Amelia’s love life. Before the advent of Rob, she had messed around with numerous men (miraculously without yet having sex). Funnily enough, at no point was Roisin tempted to disclose to Niamh what had happened with Blake. It was difficult to explain, but she felt that it would somehow besmirch what had been a special experience.

Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. On Monday morning, Amelia was still coy over what she had got up to on Saturday. Whatever had taken place between her and Rob, though, it all seemed secondary to what had happened to Roisin on Thursday. Running through her mind was the sensation she had felt in Blake’s arms, the delicious shiver that had run through her body when he had bent forward to kiss her. She found herself drifting off during lessons, wondering what would happen if Evelyn wasn’t at home that evening…

At lunchtime, she sat with her two friends in the dining hall. Niamh and Amelia both wore crosses around their necks. Niamh’s stood out starkly against her pale skin. She had ginger hair and usually dressed in greens and browns. Amelia’s cross, on the other hand, only seemed to draw attention to her ample cleavage. She had transformed her appearance in recent weeks, experimenting with different eyeshadows and lipsticks.

‘OK, so what happened on Saturday evening?’ Niamh asked.

The dining hall was as noisy as ever. Chatter and laughter blended with the scraping of cutlery and the clatter of plates and trays. As there was nobody next to them, there was no chance they could be overheard.

‘I met up with Rob.’

‘I knew it!’

‘His wife went to a hen party in Basildon. It was too good an opportunity to miss.’

Amelia described how she had been dressed in a figure-hugging outfit. Rob, obviously impressed, had called her ‘an exotic beauty’.

‘Isn’t that a bit racist?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s treating you as an outsider. It’s a microaggression.’

Amelia laughed, flicking at her braided hair. ‘Well, I happened to like it. He also said a few other things you probably wouldn’t care for – about my derrière, for instance.’

Niamh sighed, producing another laugh from Amelia.

‘We went to the Everyman in Hampstead. It wasn’t like a cinema at all – more like a stately home. We sat on a plush sofa and were served drinks by the staff. After the film was over, he took me back to his place.’

‘His place?’

‘His wife texted to say she wouldn’t be back until the following morning. He gave me the choice of either going to a restaurant or fixing me something to eat at his house.’ She raised a sculpted eyebrow. ‘Not that we ate much. We were too busy… you know…’

‘Oh, my God!’ Niamh and Roisin said virtually in unison.

‘Yes, ladies,’ Amelia added, casting a glance to her right and left, ‘I am no longer virgo intacta.’

‘Aren’t you worried about getting pregnant?’ Roisin asked.

‘I’m on the pill. I saw a doctor a fortnight ago.’

‘But what about…?’

‘My parents? They have no idea.’

Clearly, there was a lot to discuss. However, so far as The Act was concerned, they discovered very little. Amelia, who could normally be persuaded to disclose what was on