Trestle

Chapter 7 - Beauty Brands Him 'Beast'

Chapter 7
Saturday 19th July, 2024
The Ditch, Crockenhill, London

The rainy, early-morning sky projects soothing, dulcet greys but Maura can only see one colour; red, although traffic lights don't seem to count. She presses her foot down hard against the accelerator and doesn't touch the brake until she reaches The Ditch.

She slams her car door shut and the entire body of the vehicle quivers. She storms towards the doors and hammers continuously on the door, picturing Angel's smug face underneath her clenched fist.

Angel slides out of bed in his Nike training shorts and pulls back the curtain to check who can possibly be so desperate for a pint of Moretti at this time on a morning.
It's not 'the knock' but when he sees her standing in the downpour, he throws his arms into his navy Jöttnar zip-up and runs to answer anyway.

The curved white hem of her t-shirt dress is showing more thigh than she had hoped for, but in her fit of rage this morning she hadn't found the time for a wardrobe change. Her black Converse trainers are sodden and feel tighter on her feet, which have swollen from the heat, but as uncomfortable as her body feels, the rage she is feeling in her mind forces her to stand her ground.

Angel can see she is crying as he opens the door. Her tears slide down her face, falling painfully slower than the raindrops down her fringe. They stare at each other for a minute, wondering who will crack first. But it's not in Angel's nature to crack; he usually does the cracking.
Maura's lip is wobbling as she begins to speak.
Maura: Why did he deserve that?
Angel swallows the lump in his throat.
Angel: He was a thuggish man who liked to get high and rape my barmaids over at The Castle. He deserved everything he got.
He isn't lying – Fish did deserve it. He ruined that girl's life the moment he chose to scrape the virginity out of her. Killing him was justified, surely any human being would agree. But then why does Angel feel the need to explain himself to Maura? Why does he feel the need to beg for her forgiveness?

Maura: I'm not talking about the man you killed.
She thrusts the pipe at his chest.
Angel: Oh. She means Kit. The baby bro, whose soul I'm butchering.
Maura: He isn't a thuggish rapist. He's just my kid brother!
Her voice is shaking as she is shouting over the rain.
Maura: And you're going to ruin him. You're going to turn him into another beast, just like you!

She pushes his torso on the word 'beast' but Angel doesn't move.
Maura: This world doesn't need another one of you.
She strikes again, and again, and again, frantically trying to break his pectoral muscles. But instead of falling back, he simply holds her clenched fist, and her head comes crashing down against his chest.
For a moment she is engulfed in her own selfish sorrow and allows her mind to rest.
His chest is warm, still bed-sheet-soft, and he smells like post-sex cuddles in bed with coffee, which only makes Maura cry harder because the reality couldn't be any more different.
She wants him to feel and smell like the person he really is – a jagged shape, pungent and putrid, like the burning, decaying flesh of a crumpled corpse.

After catching a breath through her sobs, she lifts her head and locks onto his eyes. They're blacker than black, and they look like they belong on someone else's face.
Maura: I will do anything you ask. I am here and I am begging you, please. Please don't do this to him - don't expose him to your world.
Amongst other feelings, Angel feels her desperation for her brother – it's the same level of desperation he feels towards protecting his own family. Her weakness is his weakness too.

He sighs, recalling a quote from his favourite book, Skellig; 'I thought how you could never tell just by looking at them what they were thinking or what was happening in their lives.'
Angel: She has no idea how much I wish I could leave this world behind.
The vulnerable half of his heart wants to tell her that he isn't a catalytic beast, he's just a man. He is just a man at the beck and call of the strongest five females he has ever come across, and it is splitting him in half trying to keep the empire that was built by his father, and his father before him, standing strong enough to keep them all safe and happy. He is just a man who goes to sleep at night with blood on his hands so his girls can keep theirs clean. He is just a man who was pushed into the ring as a boy, and now, as that man, he can't bow out of the fight.

But the fiercer half of his heart, driven by hostility and the arrogance of believing that his family is, and always will be, more important than hers or anyone else's, steers her backwards, further into the pavement and away from his door.

His thumbs guide her, pressing into her shoulders; she feels fragile, like if he squeezes too hard, she could crumble, similarly to a sandcastle under a wave, no, not a wave - a whole fucking tsunami.
Feeling empathetic, and then disappointed in himself, the devil on his shoulder looks for someone else to blame - but he's alone in that room. There's not a single other soul around to point his crooked fingers at.

As expressionlessly as possible, he lets his jacket slide down both arms and wraps it around her shivering shoulders. He folds the material around her bare chest and lets his hands sit below her chin for a second. She pants heavily, nervous to his touch, and for a second she thinks she see's remorse in his eyes. They've softened to brown and they're looking into hers, not intrusively, but intimately, almost affectionately.
And then he turns his back. It's too painful to make eye contact because, although he won't admit it out loud, he knows he cannot condemn anyone other than himself for the way he is grooming Kit.
Angel has already sensed he is a good kid. He is proving to be rather reliable when it comes to bar work and errand running. But Angel needs muscle power more than Maura needs her brother.

He looks over his shoulder.
Angel: Go home Maura. And tell Kit to hurry the fuck up. He starts work in eighteen minutes.
He closes the door behind him and leans against it. Eye's closed, he tries to drown out the noise of Maura's cries. He feels the shudder of the door as she runs and kicks it in hopelessness. Her heart is breaking into a million pieces with each boot, as torturous images of Kit being led further astray flood her brain. The thoughts make her wretch, and she dissolves into the doors of The Ditch and sobs.
Maura: You're a beast Angel O'Hare. You're a beast.