Civvies

'I don't know what to say…' Subsiding onto the bed, Susie fingered three or four leaflets with colour pictures of cathedral spires and elegant country houses on their glossy covers. 'What's this?'

'Weekend away…' The phone rang in the hallway and there was the scampering of feet as one of the boys scurried to answer it. 'Well, they're just brochures,' Dillon shrugged, 'but you can pick any hotel, any place you fancy. Your mum will look after the kids.'

Kenny's voice piped up the stairs. 'Dad!… Dad, it's for you!'

Dillon went to the door. 'Try that on, I'll be right back.'

Susie gathered up the nightdress and ran her fingers over the delicate lace neckline. The price tag was still attached. She looked at it in quiet wonder, slowly shaking her head.

It was Harry on the phone, as Dillon dreaded it might be. On his way back from Aldershot, he was calling on the portable, couldn't wait to tell Dillon the news. His pal in Records Section thought he could lay hands on a couple of mug shots, IRA suspects, for him and Dillon to give the once-over, see if they checked out. 'For chrissakes, you should have talked this through with me,' Dillon told him, exasperated. He got the feeling he was being steamrollered. Harry had plans, and whether he liked it or not, Dillon was included, a cog in the relentless, unstoppable machine Harry had set in motion.

Why now of all times, he fretted, on his way back upstairs. Why now? He sighed and went in.

'It was Harry. Nothing to worry about.'

Susie was sitting at the dressing-table, dreamily brushing her hair. 'That makes a change.'

'Don't you like this?' Dillon said. The nightdress was lying on the bed, a bit rumpled, as if it had been picked up and discarded.

Susie laid down the brush. 'I've got to run the kids' bath.'

'They're okay, they're watching TV,' Dillon said, looking at her in the mirror.

'But Kenny has to do his homework…'

Dillon put his hand on her shoulder. 'Susie, his homework can wait -'

'No it can't.' She came suddenly to life, stood up, agitated almost. 'If he doesn't do it now, then he won't at all.'

Dillon clumsily tried to embrace her. 'Susie, I haven't touched you for months…'

'It wasn't me drunk last night.'

'You always say you're tired… you've been tired since your started work.'

Susie pushed past him. 'Don't start in on that, Frank!'

After Harry, now this. When he'd gone to the trouble of buying her stuff, hoping to make his peace with her, trying his bloody best. Dillon held onto his temper and tried again.

'I was going to say if it's too much working for me as well, then -'

'Then give up my job? No, Frank. No… no!'

Christ, this was hard work. 'I meant,' Dillon ground out, 'you needn't come and work for me. But you take it any way you want, an' I tried…' He spread his hands helplessly. 'I tried…'

'You tried what, Frank?'

He flared up at this. 'To reach you, talk to you!'

'Why don't you look at your face when you speak to me like that?' Susie pointed at the mirror. 'Go on, look… You want to reach me, talk to me, then start getting to know who I am -'

'Take a look at your own face, sweetheart! You think any man wants to come home to -' He grabbed hold of her by the neck and thrust her head towards the mirror, 'That! Everythin' I do is wrong, I'm not good enough…' He let go, and the force of it sent her hands skittering through bottles and lipsticks, knocking them to the floor.

'Fine – you don't like this -' Dillon had the nightdress in both bunched fists, ripping it up in long slow tearing motions.

'Frank, no, stop it…'

'You don't want to come away with me, fine!' The brochures went the same way, showered over the carpet. 'I'll find another bitch that does. You don't like this -' He snatched the driving lesson vouchers off the bed. 'Fine!'

Susie plucked the envelope out of his hand, clutched it to her chest. 'Haven't' you wasted enough money for one day?' she said, not meaning it vindictively, more of a gentle chiding joke.

Dillon hit her. A terrible, vicious crack across the face. Susie crashed into the wall and slid down. She rubbed her cheek, the marks of his fingers glowing fiery red. In contrast the blood had drained from Dillon's face. In his eyes, the most mortifying pain. Hardly knowing what he was saying, he started burbling, 'I've got money, I'm earning good money, I got thirty grand…'

Susie got up, holding her cheek. 'You'd never have got that loan if I hadn't sobbed my heart out to Marway,' she said quietly, her eyes dry and hard.

Dillon took a step towards her. A vein beat in his neck. He curled his fist but Susie didn't flinch. He broke out hoarsely, 'You got a new kitchen!'

'It's not your money, and don't expect me to jump around like some stupid tart because you buy me this.' She swept her hand at the torn nightdress. 'I am sick to death of looking out for you, trying to make you see sense.'

There was volumes more she could have said; instead she stormed out onto the landing, and would have slammed the door if Dillon hadn't caught it on the swing. He went after her.

'That's what this is really about, isn't it? You want shot of me, need somebody else -'

Susie swung round at the head of the stairs and screamed in his face, 'Yes. Yes. Yes. I need – yes - all right?'' Huge tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head away from him. 'And I wanted to pass that driving test so badly, I wanted to pass something…'

The smallness of her ambition moved him. That something so trivial, so petty, should mean so much. Dillon's throat went tight. He reached out to cover her hand on the banister rail and Susie jerked away, missed a step, and in trying to save herself lost her footing altogether and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs, landing with a heavy jarring thud he felt in the soles of his feet. Dillon heard something break. There was blood. She lay awkwardly, one leg bent underneath her, head twisted at an angle, and he thought her neck was broken.

Kenny skidded through the doorway, biting the fingers of both hands, Phil behind him screaming one endless, never-ending scream on a single high note.

'Don't touch here. Get away from her.'

Dillon knelt beside her. She was his wife, but he couldn't help her by being the hysterical, panic-stricken husband. Part of his brain clicked into automatic mode. He pressed two fingers to the carotid artery in the neck, checking the pulse, and ran his hand along the leg that was partly doubled under. Satisfied it wasn't broken, he eased it out and looked to the injuries to the head and face. Bruising to the left temple and a gash above the left eye, where the blood was coming from. Dillon rolled back an eyelid. Pupil constricted, which meant the nervous system was functioning okay. He cupped both hands under the head and very slowly brought it to a more natural position.

'Kenny, get pillows, cushions on one end of the sofa, bowl of iced water. Come on, lad, move it! Phil, out of the way, get the TV off.'

'Shall I call Gran?' asked Kenny in a quivering voice. 'Dad?'

'No, Pm here, I'll take care of her.'

'You pushed her down the stairs,' Phil said, snivelling.

'No, I didn't, son, she fell.' Dillon slid his arms underneath his wife. 'Now move away. Get out of my way…'

Phil's chin wobbled. He sucked in a huge gulp of air and his mouth opened wide.

'Phil, you stop that!' Dillon commanded, lifting Susie in his arms. 'Get out of my way!' He carried her through.

In the tiny back room he rented above a Bengali food store just off Lower Clapton Road, Harry was preparing his evening meal. This entailed the removal from the Tesco bag of the dinner on a tray for one – chicken and mushroom pie, sweetcorn, mashed potatoes, gravy – and the insertion of same into the microwave which stood on the small varnished table. Set the timer for eight minutes, and hey presto.