Caroline

Caroline

Steven had enjoyed his two nights in Scottish hotels. He’d abused the hotel bar after eating a wonderful curry in Wishart. Same the next night in Falkirk. He had run three miles before having another curry and chatting up the hotel receptionist, who had gave him the eye.

His last meeting finished at lunchtime. The drive home had been a pig with the usual congestion around Glasgow, but once south of Lanark, the roads emptied. An accident at Lancaster pissed him off even more, losing another hour.

He came off at Junction 26, took the road into Wigan, then the Central Park Way north. His terraced house as in Swinley Lane.

Steven’s street was pretty safe, but he parked under a street light, gathered his overnight bag, one containing protection equipment and and opened the front door.

‘Caroline?’ he called. He flicked on the light switch. Nothing. ‘Fucking fuses! A-bastard-gain!’

The hall was dark. He tossed his key on the hall table which hit the floor, earning his ire once again. The room was black, as was the house, save the street light sending an orange glow through the opaque side window.

Steven edged towards the kitchen and the fuse box. He took out his phone and turned on the torch. He was hit by an awkward feeling. The torch light cast dim shadows.

He walked slowly back down the hall and found his protection equipment bag. Inside he had a LED searchlight, which was perfect for reading labels in dark and difficult places.

He clicked on the beam. Now he saw why his keys missed the table. It wasn’t there. Steven’s feet clicked on the hall tiles. He went to the fuse box, but there was nothing wrong with them. Steven started to feel panic rising up his spine.

The kitchen was empty. There was nothing on any surfaces. The dining room floor was noisy. He cast the beam around. No table, No sideboard. No carpet. Moving quickly he went into the lounge. No sofa, chair or TV. Or carpet.

He went into his bedroom. His clothes were thrown into a cardboard box. His suits and shirts were on the floor. He raised the searchlight. He found the reason for the darkness. Even the bloody bulbs were gone! He pressed a stored number.

‘Hi. This is Caroline. Sorry I can’t take your call, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Byyyeeee.’

‘Caroline. It’s Steven. I’ve come home to find my house emptied. All my stuff gone. Everything. Including the bulbs. Call me. Please!’

He forced himself to think. And get the anger out of his voice. To do that, he shouted loud and sulphurously, hoping it would work. He pressed another stored number.

‘Iana. It’s Steven. I’m looking for Caroline. Any idea where she might be?’

‘Oh, hi Steven. She’s usually at home on a Thursday.’

‘That’s why I’m ringing. She’s left her credit cards. I’m worried she’ll need them when she buys dinner.’

‘That’s a bummer! She’ll use her phone.’ There was a pause. ‘Crickey, Steven. Another call. Gotta go.’

Iana cut the line. She sat down and hugged Caroline.

Fucking rug muncher, thought Steven.

‘You’ll have to call him.’ She left an arm around her friend.

‘Not tonight.’

He thought of confronting her, but wanted a cool head. He went to the garage and lifted the door. At least his bikes were still there, including his leathers and crash helmet.

There was a box of replacement bulbs. He started replacing them. The extent of Caroline’s deception became apparent. The house had been emptied. She’d even taken the kettle. There was a fish and chip chop nearby, which was good. The bitch had taken all his plates and cutlery.

She’d even taken his desk from the spare room. That would be a sizeable pain in the arse.

Eating out of the wrapper, Steven needed a plan.

Steven called his mum and asked to sleep for a few days. He was sipping his fourth beer when Caroline called. He sucked down a massive lungful or air.

‘Hi, Caroline.’

‘Steven,’ she said.

‘What have you done?’

‘In terms of what?’

‘I’m not an idiot. I came home and you’ve emptied the place.’

‘I’ve told you I wasn’t happy.’

‘Did emptying the place make you feel better? You even took the fucking lightbulbs!’

‘Don’t you shout at me!’

‘They weren’t yours to take.’

‘Sue me. I don’t care!’

Steven could imagine her jaw jutting forward in arrogance. ‘It’s theft. I’ll start with the police.’

‘And I’ll tell them about the mental cruelty.’

‘Give over! What are you going to do with my stuff?’

‘Sell it on Marketplace. You could make me an offer.’

He’d bought most of the stuff second hand and could always repeat the exercise.

‘Why, Caroline?’

‘I’ve had enough. Enough of living with you. Enough of your pettiness and tight-fistedness.’

‘Enough of me paying for everything? Living here rent-free? Paying the bills and buying food?’

‘You’re much better paid then me.’

‘So what does that make you?’

‘I’m not coming back.’

‘Gland you,re not.’ He sniffed. ‘In fact, why don’t you fuck off and when you’ve done that, go fuck off some more!’

‘You’re crap in bed, Steven.’

‘I’d never say that about you, but you’re still in the top four girls I’ve had this year.’

‘Bastard!!!’ she screamed down the phone.

Steven felt slightly better.

His mum came into the lounge.

‘The cow stole my stuff. Like everything.’

‘Maybe it’s time to do things your way.’

‘Like what?’

‘Change the locks. Photograph the inside. Make sure she can’t spray paint through the letterbox. I’ll get your Uncle Frank to redecorate it. He knows some good places to buy furniture and he’s got a van. You can stay here until you’re fixed up.’

She was right. The house needed renovation. The walls were tired. The paint was chipped. The furniture wasn’t worth much. Maybe the was the kick he needed and it wouldn’t dent the bank balance.

He made a few calls. His boss understood and gave him a couple of days’ leave. He pissed himself laughing once the line was disconnected.

Steven made a call to Falkirk.

‘Hi Steven,’ she said with allure. ‘Are you sure you’re alone?’

‘Caroline and I didn’t work it out.’

‘I can’t say I’m sorry.’

‘I’m in Scotland the week after next.’

‘Come up on Saturday. You can see our folk band at the ceilidh.’

‘Love to.’ Bloody wouldn’t he thought.

Caroline lay in bed, facing the wall. She wiped a few tears and mascara on the bedsheet. It was the right call. She knew taking his furniture was petty. Still.…

The sheets beside her moved. Iana climbed in.

‘You need a hug.’