?? - Chapter One

It was a fairly deserted, quite lonely place for a petrol station. Susan’s only customers were truckies and the occasional vacationing family. The highway upon which they were placed was a long stretch of mundane road that was uneasy on the eye. These days, people just travelled by plane. A marvellous invention, she thought. Susan, now well into her twilight years, had endured far too many car trips with the kids fighting in the back. Oh, the headaches they’d given her. 1

Susan gave herself a mental slap. She would give up her Pandora bracelet and even all her Robbie William albums, if she could just see her sons again. Laughably, she longed for that bittersweet pang that her children gave her. 2

She didn’t usually work Thursdays. It was Joe’s day. Usually she’d be at home watching her recorded episodes of Bold and the Beautiful or maybe even The Days of Our Lives. It’d taken a while to get used to the new DVD recorder. She was the type of person who said ‘video’ instead of ‘DVD’ and set phone alarms that went off in the middle of the night. Joe always said her “technological incompetence” was endearing, even though he, her husband of 36 years, was hardly any better. 3

Today was the big one. The store was closing early, she decided with a smile. At 8 o’clock, a mere 3 hours away, she’d go to see him, to see if things really had worked out as he’d promised. Today was a one-off, an exception… 4

Looking around the store’s interior, she noted with dissatisfaction that it was spotless. She’d already replaced the fridge with new drinks, carefully removing the cold ones and putting them at the front of the rack. The corn-chips, much favoured by beer-bellied dads, were stacked neatly in isle 4, right next to the Tim-tams. Earlier on in the day, a little boy (bless his heart) had thrown up in isle 7, narrowly missing the washing powder and fabric softener. It seemed strangely sacrilegious to her wrinkled nose, that lunchtime’s egg and lettuce sandwich should tarnish the fresh smell of Coldpower and Omo, the best powders the store had to offer. It wasn’t as if anyone ever bought them; no one would drive out to the middle of no-where to buy such a thing. Susan just liked the smell. It took her 24 glorious minutes to clean up the vile mess, the perfect killing of time. 5

It seemed ironic, that a woman of her age should be using a phrase like “killing of time”. Wasn’t this the time where most oldies should be cracking their arthritic knuckles and making the most of what little time was left? It was completely insane, she acknowledged, letting out a croaky chuckle. This was exactly why they were selling the place. Soon they’d be on a cruise through the Caribbean, or whatever old buggers like them were supposed to do. They’d get a marvellous amount of money from selling the place, enough to permit their well-earned, quite evidently overdue retirement. 6

Maybe she’d stop dying her hair, just let it go grey for once… Perhaps she’d go swimming in public, although she hardly had the body for it anymore. Bugger what anyone else had to say about it. Susan wasn’t young, she was old, aged, elderly. She was entitled to burden society. No way would she be putting her make up on. Her face had been through a lot. It deserved a break, as did her body. Yes, Susan would be eating whatever she wanted. She giggled conspiratorially at the thought of tiramisu and caramel cheesecakes… 7

Headlights flashed upon the horizon, and the sputter of an old Ford slowly came to a halt in the parking lot beside the shop’s entrance. The car’s white door opened stiffly, and a young man emerged. He wore grey, baggy jeans that rustled as he passed through the automatic doors, and a dark hoodie that was unseasonably warm for a February day. He didn’t seem to mind much. Slouching, he had his hands shoved into his pockets, his pale, sunken face downcast. 8

“Hullo, lad!” she called to the mystery man. “Anything I can help you with?”9

He looked up at her quickly, his piercing eyes quickly flying to the doorway. For a moment, it seemed as though he was going to bolt. “No.” He sounded young… and scared.10

Susan looked away instinctively, knowing from experience to give him the space to browse freely. 11

She glanced at the time: 6: 52. She tapped her manicured fingernails impatiently on the counter, almost swivelling around on her chair in anticipation, or dread, she didn’t know which yet. They should be stitching Joe up in about an hour now… 12

Suddenly Susan felt something cold touch her neck. She shuddered involuntarily, looking up to meet the steely gaze of the young man. Pressed against her neck was a long, sharp machete. Biting her lip, she repeated herself. “Anything I can help you with?” She paused. “Money, booze? I know you lads like your booze… Slash, slice, dice with ya machetes for some grog…” She wheezed, shaking with coughs. 13

The criminal withdrew his weapon, a disconcerting look of concern upon his face. “Miss, are you okay?” 14

“Aye, aye,” she said, eyeing the blade that still hovered next to her. “Now, what’ll it be, lad?”15

“Oh, uh, ri-right,” he stammered, returning the knife to its place by her neck.16

“Careful!” Susan cried.17

The man’s hand shook violently, and the machete cut into her shoulder. Blood spurted everywhere. The pristine, white counter became covered in her blood. He dropped the weapon, and it clattered on the floor loudly.18

Susan clutched her shoulder, moaning. “Oh, Jaysus!” 19

“Ah my, my God! I’m so sorry, miss.” The man looked up at her, horrified. His hood fell backwards, revealing his ashen face and shaved head.20

“Jaysus, lad!”21

The man’s hand fumbled through his pocket, finding his phone and – to the surprise of both parties – calling an ambulance. “Yes. Y-Yes. Westorshi-shire. Davey’s Freeway. The pe-petrol station. Hurry! An hour? O-okay.” He closed his phone, managing to meet her gaze. 22

Susan began laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “What kind of robber calls the coppers after slicing up his victim?” 23

The man winced at her words, a wounded look upon his face. “I’m no robber, miss.” 24

“Ah, yeah, is that right?” Susan said. “Would you mind, lad, going to get the first aid kit? It’s just in my office over there,” she pointed, “top shelf, lad.” 25

The man stumbled over in a flash, returning with the bandages and gauze. 26

“What’s your name?” Susan asked, looking at the wretched man before her.27

“It’s, uh, Tom,” he mumbled, looking away ashamedly. 28

“Okay,” she said. “Can you wrap me up, Tom?” Susan took her hand away from her shoulder, showing him the crimson of her palm. “I’m bleeding an awful lot.” 29

Tom proceeded to bandage her shoulder, tenderly and slowly, trying not to cause her any pain. His eyes were baby blue, Susan noted, her gaze softening. He had a little button nose above a mass of stubble that prickled gently on his chin. It didn’t hurt as much now, and the blood had almost stopped flowing. 30

“I’m so sorry, miss,” Tom said, his baby eyes becoming teary and sad. 31

“The name’s Susan. Sit down, lad.” She motioned towards the chair beside her. 32

Obediently, he did as she said. 33

“You’re not a robber?” Susan asked. 34

“Nah…” He put his hands in his lap, his gaze downcast. 35

“Then what in God’s name are you doing here?” She frowned, wrinkles creasing her brow.36

Tom sighed. “Me Mam needs a new heart. But we’ve got no dosh, you see?” 37

“Oh… darn…” 38

They were silent for a few moments, and then Susan spoke again.39

“My husband’s got lung cancer,” she said. “Smoked for years, he did. Now he’s under the knife as we, uh… speak.” She let out a hysterical laugh, a tear escaping from her eye and sliding down her cheek. “What a day, eh lad?” She sighed.40

He nodded, smiling weakly. 41

“Yes…” she said. 42

“D’ya have any kids, Miss Susan?” Tom asked shyly. 43

“Sure. Two boys, ‘bout your age, maybe even a bit older.” Miss Susan looked away.44

“You see ‘em a lot?” 45

“Not anymore, Tommy, my lad.”46

“Why not?” He frowned.47

“One’s dead and the other’s a fag. So figuratively speaking, they’re both pushin’ up daisies.” She laughed grimly. 48

“He’s ya son!” Tom said indignantly, his frown deepening. “Surely it shouldn’t m-matter?” 49

“Not in theory, love,” she said, biting her lip. “His father was more adamant than I.” 50

“Ya husband’s not your boss,” he shot back angrily. 51

“And is ya mam your boss then, is she, lad?”52

They were silent again, both reflecting quietly on their lives. 53

“She’s not my boss…” Tom said softly. “She’s just my mammy.” He sobbed a little, covering his face.54

“Shhh, lad, I understand,” Susan put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. 55

“I’m sorry, miss.” Tom’s body shook.56

“Would you stop apologising?” Susan sat back in her chair, acutely aware of her wound. “Hey Tommy, got any brothers?” 57

“Nah,” he replied. “I’ve gotta little sister though.” He visibly brightened up. “She’s seven and the sweetest little thing ya ever saw.”58

“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” Susan said wistfully.59

“She really loves her mammy…” He darkened again. 60

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, lad,” she reassured him. “It’ll work out somehow; I just know it.” She managed a crooked smile.61

Sirens sounded, and headlights glared in the distance. The ambulance was on its way, Susan noted with satisfaction. Already her shoulder was feeling better. 62

“You’d better scat, Tom,” she said, getting to her feet.63

“You’re not pressing charges?” He sounded shocked. 64

“I feel like we’re friends, Tom.”65

He smiled meekly through his blushing cheeks. 66

“Just uh, take your machete with you…” Susan said. 67

And with that, he was gone, the sputtering of his old Ford fading into the blare of the coming sirens… 68