The Fog - James Herbert [40]
Look at him now, standing in the middle of the road in a drunken stupor. God, how she wished that bus had knocked him down! She was the one who had made the business a success; it was all due to the hard work she’d put into it. All right, so he did get to the market very early in the mornings, but why should that excuse him for the rest of the day? They could have been well off if he didn’t squander every penny they made on drink and gambling. And giving it away. Oh yes, all his cronies knew where to come when they were short of a few bob! Good old Herby – the paupers’ friend. Well, she’d sifted a bit away out of the takings; she had to, otherwise they’d soon be out on the street if business suddenly went bad. It wasn’t stealing – how could you steal money you earned yourself? But there was no reason he should know about it. Look at him, staggering across the road! I just hope none of the customers see him, the rotten bastard.
Tears glistened in Lena Brown’s eyes, not tears of self-pity or sorrow, but tears of hate.
‘I wish you’d die,’ she said aloud, her breath causing the window-pane to mist up. ‘I wish you’d fucking die.’
Herbert reached the side door to his shop and fumbled for his key. His wife had once bolted the door from the inside. Only once, never again. The police had been called because of the commotion he’d made, but she’d never dared to lock him out of his own house again. He found his key and had no difficulty in placing it in its metal womb, turning it viciously and pushing the door open. He closed it loudly behind him, not caring if he disturbed his wife upstairs. Not that she’d be asleep. Oh no, she’d be waiting for him no matter what time it was. You’d think she’d get sick at the sound of her own voice by now. Well fuck ’er! She wasn’t important.
He felt his way along the dark passageway and down the steps to the backyard, not bothering to turn on the lights. Unbolting the heavy back door, he stepped out into the cool night air, breathing in great mouthfuls of it. He unzipped his trousers and pissed on the hard concrete ground, enjoying the sound as the yellow stream spattered off it. He never knew why he did this, their toilet stood directly opposite him and it had cost him a small fortune to have the one upstairs put in. But it was one of life’s little pleasures, he told himself. And it infuriated Lena.
As the stream of urine lost its impetus and retreated back towards his shoes, he became conscious of another sound. It was the sound of cooing.
He looked up towards the roof. His pigeons – they’d come back, bless ’em! He laughed aloud and quickly zipped up his trousers, getting his fingers wet in the process. Wiping his hands on his jacket, he lurched back into the house, leaving the door wide open behind him. He staggered up the stairs, cursing as he tripped, using his hands on the stairs ahead of him. As he reached the landing window, he heard his wife’s voice coming from the bedroom.
‘You dirty bastard!’ she called. ‘You’re a bloody animal! Why don’t you use the lavatory like any normal man?’
‘Shut your noise,’ he shouted back, reaching one knee up to the window-sill. He had to be careful now. More than once he’d lost his grip and gone tumbling down the stairs. She always said he’d go walking off the roof one of these nights, and good riddance too. But he knew he’d never get that drunk because if he did, he would never be able to get out the bleedin’ window.
He scrambled through, his hands resting on the floor of the roof, supporting his upper body. He could still hear her voice from inside the house, shrill, unpleasant. But he could also hear the cooing now, much louder, and the sounds of movement inside the coop as the birds shuffled on their perches, excited by the noise he was making.
‘I’m coming, my darlings,’ he called out, drunkenly conscious of the silly grin on his face. He was careful to keep well away from the edge of the flat roof; he didn’t fancy the drop on to the concrete thirty feet below. ‘I knew you’d get back, Claude. I knew I could depend on you. What happened, get lost,