The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7 Part 53

She got pregnant again. Then she got divorced from the dwarf.

Freddy tried to persuade his doctor to prescribe tretinoin, even though he knew by now that freckles couldn't be treated on the NHS. He claimed it would help with his depression. No joy. So he got hold of some himself. It certainly helped lighten his freckles, but at a cost. His skin turned red, itched, flaked and became painful to the touch.

Subst.i.tuting one blemish for another, that's all he was doing. Made him feel even uglier. He looked around for another option. Chemical peel. Cryosurgery. Laser treatment.

The chemical peel was likely to cause scarring, so that was easily dismissed.

It seemed that cryosurgery was considered inferior to laser treatment, so that was the way to go.

He paid for two treatments, eight weeks apart.

When he went back to see her again a year later, a guy he'd never seen before answered the door.

"Is Karen in?" Freddy asked.

"f.u.c.k's it to you?" he said.

"I'm an old friend."

The guy nodded. "She's gone," he said after bit. "f.u.c.ked off with her brats."

"Do you know where?"

"Didn't ask."

Freddy shuffled his feet. "You think you might see her again?"

"Doubt it."

"If you do, could you tell her Freddy called by?"

"Freddy?" the guy said, and peered at Freddy. "Freckles? f.u.c.k, aye," he said. "Heard about you. That's a f.u.c.kin' faceful of freckles, right enough."

Next time he saw her was almost two years later. She was walking down the street with her kids; one, a boy, running ahead, throwing punches at an invisible victim, the other in a pram. Karen didn't notice Freddy.

He followed her for the length of the street, sorely tempted to follow her further. But he stopped himself. He knew how it would look. Especially with tears running down his face.

Anyway, he had to get back to work. He was saving up for a new laser treatment, one that was guaranteed to remove all but the most stubborn of his blemishes.

And that's what it did. The new treatment resulted in minimal scarring, ma.s.sive freckle reduction, and the few little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds that remained were so light in colour that his mum said they really weren't noticeable. He was desperate to track Karen down and show her.

Took him five months. She'd moved, but that wasn't the reason. Just took him that long to get himself together.

Her ex-husband, the dwarf, opened the door. "f.u.c.k's sake," he said. "f.u.c.k you doing here, Freckles?"

Freddy hadn't known the dwarf was back on the scene. Freddy should have left, but he couldn't help himself. He said, "Is Karen in?"

"f.u.c.kin' aye, she is," the dwarf said. "What's it to you?"

"I want to see her."

"f.u.c.k for?"

"Because," Freddy said. He indicated his face. "Cause of my freckles."

The dwarf looked at him, shook his scarred head. He turned, shouted into the house, "Karen. That Freckles d.i.c.khead for you."

She came to the door, barefoot, dress hanging off her rail-thin torso. Her arms looked snappable. Her glazed-over eyes bulged in her shrunken face. "Eh?" she said.

Freddy wasn't surprised. "It's me," he said. "Freddy."

"And?" she said.

He forced a grin. "What do you think?"

"Eh?" she said.

He indicated his face. "The freckles," he said. "All gone."

"Oh," she said. "Aye."

The three of them stood in the doorway glancing at each other until the dwarf said, "That it?"

Freddy shrugged.

"You came here to show her your freckles?"

"I don't have any. Well, hardly any."

"And that's it?"

Freddy looked at his feet. "Well, no."

"What, then?"

About time he went for it. He had to. He might never get another chance. And he was bubbling with confidence. He could feel it pressing behind his eyes. "Do you love her?" he asked the dwarf.

The dwarf looked up at her, then looked up at Freddy. "Mind your own f.u.c.kin' business," he said.

"Well I do," Freddy said. "I love her with all my heart and soul." He turned to Karen. "I love you," he said.

The dwarf leapt at him and smacked him on the mouth. Freddy fell to the ground. His face felt wet and, curiously, it burned. The dwarf jumped on top of him, swinging at him.

Another blow struck Freddy on the cheek.

And another.

He tasted blood. Warm, salty, thick.

Then he saw the blade glistening in the dwarf's hand, and his tongue caught the loose flap of skin and the air in his mouth felt cool where it slipped through the ripped skin of his cheek.

He caught Karen's gaze. She hadn't moved. She was staring at him from the doorway.

He swallowed blood, choked, spat.

The dwarf was on him again, thrusting at his face with the blade.

Ten years pa.s.sed before Freddy saw Karen again.

He'd left the city, but the memory of her never faded. He knew he'd have to come back eventually.

And here he was. Ten years older. Ten years more afraid.

He adjusted his cap, shielded his face like he always did, even though it was night-time. There were streetlights, though. He'd have preferred total darkness for this.

Maybe then, though, she'd have recognized his voice. She might do that anyway. Maybe she'd run away. His heart speeded up as he got closer.

She noticed his approach, clipped towards him on her heels.

"You looking for some fun, big boy?" she asked him.

"That . . . yes."

She grabbed his arm, linked hers in his.

No sign of recognition. The contact made him want to cry.

"You got a car?" she asked.

"I'd like to kiss you."

She stopped. "I don't do kissing."

"Never mind," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it."

"I don't kiss."

"Okay."

"Anything else, though. Within reason."

"What's within reason?"

"Hand-job, blow-job, full s.e.x straight, full service. Greek, maybe, if you're not too big. Golden shower, if you like, but not reverse. No hardsports. And absolutely nothing without."

"Without what?"

"You done this before?"

"No kissing?"

"No chance."

"I love you," he said. "I've always loved you."

She tugged her arm away. "Who the f.u.c.k are you?"

"Freddy," he said.

She peered at him. "Freckles?"

"Yeah." He reached up, grabbed the peak of his cap. "But I got rid of my freckles. You know that." He took off the cap.

"Oh, Jesus," she said, putting her hand to her mouth but keeping her eyes fixed on him. "That's f.u.c.kin' hideous."

"Thanks," he said.

"I didn't mean . . ."

"I was sorry to hear about your husband."

"You were?"

He nodded.

"He was my ex."

"But you'd got back together."

"Yeah, but we'd split up again by then," she said.

"After what he did to you . . . It was hard to keep things going when he was inside."

"Must have hurt, though."

"They said it was instant. The car hit him-"

"I meant, must have hurt you. The loss of a loved one."

She turned her head away. "I didn't love him."

"But you once did."

"No," she said. "Never."