Wired — Excerpt from 'Barbed Wire'
When I got in, Steph was waiting for me. The kids were in bed, of course, and I was glad about that. I wasn’t yet ready to look them in the eye after I’d murdered their dad.
‘Well?’ she said, as I kicked my muddy boots off at the back door.
‘It’s done,’ I said. I walked through the kitchen.
Steph tried to catch my arm, but I kept on walking, down the hall and up the stairs.
‘How did you …?’ Steph was on my heels.
I stopped at the bathroom door, turned and looked at her. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it, pet. It’s done and now I want a shower.’ I shut the door on her and sat down on the edge of the bath. I felt sick to my stomach, even though he deserved it, even though I hated the cunt. I was weary, too, and not just because of the physical effort needed to do what we’d done. I stood up and stripped my clothes off, folded them and put them in a pile, then I had a shower and tried to wash away the dirt, and the night, and the memory of the spade in his neck, the soil in his eyes, and that bloody awful growling noise he’d made as he died.
I hadn’t thought I would sleep, but I went out like a light. Then woke up around four in the morning and sat bolt upright in bed.
‘What is it?’ asked Steph, blinking in the light as I switched on the bedside lamp and started pulling clothes on. ‘Jimmy?’
‘Well?’ she said, as I kicked my muddy boots off at the back door.
‘It’s done,’ I said. I walked through the kitchen.
Steph tried to catch my arm, but I kept on walking, down the hall and up the stairs.
‘How did you …?’ Steph was on my heels.
I stopped at the bathroom door, turned and looked at her. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it, pet. It’s done and now I want a shower.’ I shut the door on her and sat down on the edge of the bath. I felt sick to my stomach, even though he deserved it, even though I hated the cunt. I was weary, too, and not just because of the physical effort needed to do what we’d done. I stood up and stripped my clothes off, folded them and put them in a pile, then I had a shower and tried to wash away the dirt, and the night, and the memory of the spade in his neck, the soil in his eyes, and that bloody awful growling noise he’d made as he died.
I hadn’t thought I would sleep, but I went out like a light. Then woke up around four in the morning and sat bolt upright in bed.
‘What is it?’ asked Steph, blinking in the light as I switched on the bedside lamp and started pulling clothes on. ‘Jimmy?’
