Retribution

Chapter 40 - The Big 3-0

I woke up Saturday morning with a pounding head. I indulged in cheap wine last night and I was now paying the price. Still, for someone who never touched a drop of alcohol, the house wine had gone down well; too well.

I showered and dressed, feeling a lot better as I scoffed a fatty fried breakfast. Now being past nine am, I was surprised Jake hadn't been in touch yet. He always sent me a text around eight am to wish me a good day.

But not today.

I frowned, my self-doubt rearing its ugly head, shouting at me that this was it; he'd lost interest. Pushing the thoughts away, I dug into my hash browns and mulled over how I felt now I was officially thirty.

Marco wished me a happy birthday when I came downstairs, his eyes twinkling as if he knew something I didn't know.

A low grumble vibrated from Ellie before she bolted to the front door, barking. Seconds later, a sharp knock echoed around us. Marco strode towards the door, touched Ellie on the head, and opened it.

Ellie sat quietly at Marco's side, eyeing the postman, who in turn, eyed her cautiously too. With his arms as outstretched as far as possible, I stifled a giggle as the second he handed over his parcel, he power walked back to his van.

Marco still had his back to me and seemed to be looking down at something. Before I could think anything further, he clicked his fingers to Ellie and pointed at the postman's van. She took off like lightning, her back claws scraping at the wooden flooring for grip. The peaceful morning air filled with her deep barks followed by a vehicle skidding to a stop on the gravel.

Running out after her, Marco dropped a bouquet of red roses in the open doorway. My instant thought was Jake, but then I realised that wouldn't have Marco concerned. Like a ship's anchor, dread slammed into my heart.

I jumped off my chair, ran over, and bent down to the discarded bouquet. A small white card had been sent with the roses, which of course, Marco had read.

Roses are red, violets are blue,

Happy birthday to you,

Your time on earth is nearly through,

For when I'm coming, you'll have no clue,

But one thing is certain, my dear Queen,

Your dog will be dining upon your spleen.

I screamed and dropped it, tears filling my eyes instantly. As nausea and nerves tumbled together, I collapsed, and my breakfast was soon hurling itself back out of me. Happy fucking birthday.

Marco headed back over to me and helped me up. After escorting me to the bathroom to clean myself up, the poor guy mopped up the mess I'd made all over the hallway floor. It was almost cringeworthy knowing he'd done such a thing. I felt terrible.

"Are you feeling better, Miss Simmons?" he asked, when I came back downstairs.

"I don't think I'm going to be sick again if that's what you mean."

A sympathetic smile folded over his lips. "I am sorry for what he's putting you through, Miss Simmons."

Gulping down a glass of water, I turned to him and said, "Don't be sorry, Marco. You have nothing to be sorry for."

He nodded his head and resumed his position by the front door, hands clasped together in front of him. "The postman was paid fifty pounds to deliver the roses. A man at the top of the road flagged him down and asked the favour. He couldn't give a good description of what he looked like because his hoody was pulled up and a scarf covered the bottom half of his face."

I sat down on a kitchen stool and allowed myself to stare into space. Ellie wandered over and laid next to me, leaning against my legs. Just feeling her solidity against me was a welcome reminder of strength. Whatever Adam had planned next, I could deal with it; I just had to believe in myself.

"What did you do with them, Marco? If you don't mind me asking?"

"They're in the rubbish bins outside."

An idea pinged to mind. I needed to stop reacting how he wanted me to react. He was blatantly watching me; albeit from a distance, which meant he was getting his kicks from torturing me. I needed to 'reverse psychology' this situation and give him a bitter tasting pill of his own medicine.

"Are they crushed or still ok?"

Briefly frowning at me, Marco replied, "They're perfectly fine. Would you like me to cut them up or something?"

I gave him a big grin. "No, thank you. Would you mind bringing them inside please?"

He hesitated for a few seconds, no doubt wondering whether to pursue this or not. Remaining silent, he stepped outside, and a few seconds later, returned with them. I flicked the radio into life, and for the next twenty minutes I sang along to the latest songs as I cut the stems and neatly arranged the roses in an ornamental vase.

Marco still said nothing. I collected the card which had Adam's poem on it and turned it over. A few minutes later, after placing the handwritten card in the middle of the arrangement, and a few inches higher than the flowers, I carefully positioned the vase on the hallway windowsill.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Marco walked over to them and looked at what I'd written on the card. A light chuckle sounded from him before he nodded to me and said, "Very good, Miss Simmons."

My reply had been simple:

Roses are red, violets are blue,

Whatever made me leave, I have no clue.

I'm such a lucky girl, to have found my rare pearl,

Oh, but wait, that's not you.

I then made a cheery phone call to a local estate agent. The house was going on the market.