Where the streets have no name

By Sammi Leng

If you believe that ... think again. The mere thought of a romance such as the described makes me reach for a bucket. 'What's wrong with loving someone that way?' I hear you ask. Well let me explain.

For a start, the beach I am looking at from my window is put to shame by a sand-pit in the children's playground. I'm in Blackpool, for those of you who are interested. The 'cool breeze' which apparently 'whispers our love', would be more appropriately told as a gale force wind, howling it's sorrows. And finally, getting to 'the man I love', or should I say 'the man who thought I loved him'?. He had an unfortunate ... mishap, and doesn't exactly have such a pleasant warmth to his body anymore. In fact, he doesn't have any warmth to his body anymore!

The police are waiting outside. They've been banging on the door for the last ten minutes. It really gets irritating after a while. They want to question me. They think I'm responsible for two crimes, when in fact, I'm innocent of all accusations ... sort of.

It all began two months ago. I worked in a lawyers office as a servant to my boss, a highly successful woman who befriended me for some unknown reason. She lived in, nothing short, of a mansion with her husband, an equally successful lay about, who had come into money when his father died. The circumstances of the death where suspicious, may I add. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I was invited round to their house for a dinner party, just the three of us. A nice, cosy, friendly get together. Unfortunately, it was then, that the trouble started.

We sat down at the table to start our meal. I was seated next to Clara (that's my boss) and her husband Jack was opposite. He was a handsome man. Slim, but definitely able to stand up for himself in the event of trouble, and of course, the fact he was loaded with a sum of money he had no use for added to his good looks. However, as much as I admired him for his manly physique ... he wasn't my type.

He lacked charm, he lacked a sense of humour and he was so in love with himself it was plain to see he had no feelings whatsoever for Clara, except to add to his already overflowing bank balance. It is true that first appearances can be deceptive, so perhaps I should overlook my first two claims of the qualities this man didn't possess. After all, I had only just met him. You may wonder, now, why I did not admit to a possible mistake on the judgement of the statement that he was not in love with Clara. Well, when his foot started to slide it's way up my thigh, I decided this was a fact!

When the oblivious Clara ventured into the kitchen to fetch dessert, Jack smiled sweetly at me and mouthed "I love you", over the half eaten, wholemeal baguette. I mean, I'd heard of love at first site, but this was ridiculous!

He continued to allow his foot to grope me all the way through eating our chocolate log, which had one of those little swirls of cream on top. You know, the ones you get in all the posh restaurants? He made an exaggerated scene of eating his, lapping up a single speck at a time with his tongue, which was another of his flaws. If he intended his eating performance to be a turn on, he had failed miserably, in fact, it made me feel physically sick.

After dinner the three of us retired to the sitting quarters. With it's wide screen television and it's dimming touch lamps, it resembled a cinema more than a living room, but I wasn't complaining. The suggestion that came next surprised me. "Why don't you stay the night?" Jack asked. "We have plenty of room and it's late for you to be driving home alone, especially after the wine." That, I had to agree, was true. I had polished off the whole bottle almost independently. It had come as a surprise that people who could afford the most expensive alcohol hardly touched it, or maybe I just didn't give them a chance. Whatever the reason for their apparent dislike for large intakes of liquor, I was thankful for Jack's offer and agreed to stay over.

Jack practically jumped out of his seat. "Are you tired now?" I looked at him wondering his reasons for being so persistent. The idea he wanted a liaison following his previous antics at dinner crossed my mind, but Clara was still here. That caused another thought to pop into my head, but it struck me with such panic I disregarded it before I threw up over the astonishingly clean carpet. I doubt I need to go on.

I stood up. "Yes, I am quite tired. Comes of Clara keeping me on my feet all day!" I smiled at Clara to show her I was joking. She smiled back and got to her feet. Instantly Jack dragged her back onto the sofa. "I'll show her the room. She can have ours. It's much more comfortable for a guest." I saw Clara's face drain it's colour. "But that's our only double bed", she reminded him weakly.

"Clara! Don't be so greedy. We're Kate's hosts. We live to serve tonight. I'm sure you can manage one night without me by your side, can't you? Surely I'm not that irresistible!" Jack shot her a smug smile and I have to admit I felt bad for Clara. He was her husband and even she could see now that he had developed an interest in me. She blushed, looking embarrassed. "Of course. I'm sorry Kate." She smiled sweetly, but I could see she was gritting her teeth.

Jack led me up the stairs towards the main bedroom. We didn't speak, just kissed. Long and hard ... the kiss, I mean! Then he left and entered his own room. I climbed into the four poster, staring into the darkness. I heard the soft footfalls of Clara as she made her ascent up the stairs about half an hour after myself and Jack. She entered the room two doors down the hall. The one next to Jack's. So they really weren't sleeping in the same bed tonight. Shortly after that I drifted into a heavy sleep. A sleep that was so heavy I couldn't have possibly woken up in the middle of the night and done anything unusual ... honest!

The next morning I awoke to Jack's sobbing by my bedside. "She's gone!" He whimpered, wiping his swollen eyes. "Who's gone?" I sat up, confused.

"Clara. She's gone. Disappeared."

"Disappeared where?"

"I don't know where. But her clothes are still here. Her passport, her credit card. There's a spot of blood on the carpet in her room, and ... she's gone!" The tears began to roll down his cheeks again.

"So you think she's dead?" The question was purely instinctive. I was genuinely shocked by what I had just heard.

Jack stopped crying immediately. He dried his eyes and stared at me solemnly. "I don't know Kate. I honestly don't know. I've told the police. They'll be here soon, and hopefully they'll find her alive and well. But..."

"There's a but?" I asked.

Jack nodded. "Yes. What I said last night. That I loved you. It was true, you know. Very true. I want to be with you. I never loved Clara, and although I hope she's well, I can't stay with her any longer."

Being informed that a man who is fearing for his wife's life loved me was more than a little shock. I nearly passed out! If it wasn't for the money I would have turned him down faster than you can say 'I'm innocent', but he had a luxury I wanted and I wasn't about to pass up on the chance of a lifetime. I could put up with this stuck up poser for a while, if cash was my reward.

I don't blame you for thinking that it's a little suspicious, I think that also. But as I said before, Jack wasn't my type. The money was the only interest in him I had. And for money, I wouldn't go as far as to kill someone. I repeat ... I did not kill Clara Banks.

The police arrived on time. In any usual circumstance this would have surprised me, but somehow what had already happened that morning had over ruled my realisation that cops actually did own watches. Detective Inspector Pierce questioned me and Jack, asking us where we where last night, why I was in the house and if we had any idea where Clara could have gone, while the uniformed offices scrambled around the mansion on all fours pretending they were extras in 'Starskey and Hutch'. They finally gave in admitting they were baffled by the disappearance. Soon after, the forensics made their scene. No traces of fingerprints. Not Clara's, not mine, not anyone's. The police quickly moved on making excuses about having cases with definite leads to attend to, although we would be the first to know if anything got brought to light.

After the congregation of people watchers that had appeared outside Jack's front door had lost interest and found some other poor soul to gawk at, Jack and I collapsed into a heap of exhaustion on the sofa. It was then he made his first move. Edging closer to me, he whispered his odes of love. He sounded like Will Shakespeare after an elocution lesson. Pathetic ... yes. Arousing ... sadly no.

I was not about to give into his advances with ease. I mean, I hadn't received a penny off him yet. That made me wonder if I would ever get a penny off him. A couple of slap up meals and a few gifts to buy my passion wasn't going to please me. I wanted the whole lot.

You might call me greedy. Then I would call you naive. Staying in a house with luxury surrounding you wherever you go, with a man who treats you like a Goddess, despite his self admiration, was something I hadn't ever imagined before. The old saying 'you never miss what you've never had' is very true. I hadn't expected a chance to have all this glory, so it wasn't something I longed for. The experience of wealth, however, attracted me like a fly towards a bright light. And I wanted it. Of course, the point I overlooked is that the fly always gets hurt. Often frazzled by the wasted heat of the bulb, but that's really beside the point.

Back to Jack's advances. The realisation that I wouldn't receive what I wanted after enduring this man panicked me somewhat. Something had to be done, and with a certain leading lady absent, I could quite easily pull it off.

Jack began unbuttoning his shirt. An expensive number, as with everything he owned. He heaved himself down on top of me, kissing me hard on the lips, then lower. Again I felt no desire to love this man. His saliva left a sticky trail along my shoulders, strangely enough resembling that of an iguana, as he began to lift my T-shirt. I pulled away, glaring at him with burning eyes. I had never seen myself as much of an actress but my following performance was nothing short of an award winner.

"So that's all you want me for!" I yelled at him, tugging my lowered T-shirt back up over my shoulder. "You want me for your perverted little fantasies. What's wrong? Was Clara not good enough for you?"

Jack looked extremely shocked that I had acted in such a way and quickly backed off me. "No, no. That's not what I want you for at all. I told you I love you. I loved you the first time I saw you. Your eyes where like diamonds glistening into mine, your hair beckoned for me to caress it with my lonely hand, your smile..."

"Spare me the poetry." I interrupted sharply. "Your wife has disappeared without trace and all you can think of is seducing her employee."

"Seducing? Kate, watch my lips, I love you."

"Then prove it."

He stared at me with a bemused expression. Something told me he was not used to having females talk to him in this way. I spoke the next white lie convincingly and Jack actually looked pleased. As if he'd scored a victory. "I have made a promise to remain a virgin until my wedding night. It's a family tradition. My mother followed it, her mother followed it and I'm not going to be the one to break the pact. So, you either marry me, or lose out in the bedroom department." I told him abruptly.

A bombshell, I know, but it guaranteed me half of everything he owned when I divorced him for whatever reason. It would work perfectly well, as it was apparent to everyone that the poor grieving man was left without spouse. He slid silently off the sofa. At first I wondered if he was having a heart attack as the result of my words, but no, he was just preparing to demonstrate another of his sickening attempts of charm. He got down on one knee, smiling inanely at me.

"Yes I will marry you, thanks for asking, I'm going for a walk, arrange the plans." I cut his act short. I couldn't be doing with this now. I left the room leaving Jack knelt down like some priest praying to the big guy upstairs. "And I don't want any fuss. A registry office wedding with no guests, no party, and absolutely no photographer", I called as I banged the door shut. I hated photographers. Always kept you standing still for so long and never managed good photographs anyway.

That night I slept in the same four poster bed as I had done the night before. A wedding was planned for the next morning. I must say, I never expected to get married, but then, I never expected to meet an aristocrat who worshipped me.

The morning ahead would be over quickly enough, unfortunately the night would also be necessary. It saddened me when I thought of myself as a glorified prostitute, selling my body to a man I had grown rapidly, in one day, to loathe ... so I didn't think of myself as one. I could block out thoughts with ease, and the thought of sleeping with Jack Banks was no exception. I slept soundly.

Morning, 11:00. The deed was done. I had given Jack my hand in marriage, and he, in return, had promised to change his will that very afternoon. Everything would be mine if, God forbid, anything should happen to my beloved husband. Not that I expected anything to happen to him!

After he had made the changes I desired without so much of a hint of suspicion, he booked us into a hotel in sunny Blackpool, my location at this exact moment, although ... not with Jack. The evening was spent listening to him coo sweet nothings into my ear over a candlelight supper and a bottle or two of wine. This time I was drinking purely to get drunk. That night we made love, me for the first time, as far as Jack ever knew. I think it was that fact that made my truthful comment the next morning drive him to the liquor.

"You were useless!" I scolded. "Clara obviously taught you nothing about the requirements of a woman. I'm sorry, Jack, but I'm not sure I can live without experiencing the touch of a real man." I know that was harsh, every mans weak spot is knowing he is not satisfying between the sheets, but I swear I spoke no word of a lie. Besides, how was I to know how he would react?

We drove back to his house in silence, not that I minded, and the second we got in he hit the drink. First a mild red wine. Gone too quickly. Then onto a shot of vodka. A shot was all that was left. So, he took to his unopened Whiskey, and drank the lot before 9pm.

"I'm going to bed", he slurred. I said nothing, only watched him sway towards the stone staircase.

That was the last I saw of Jack Banks.

I can't be sure what happened. I heard a scream and went to investigate. Jack lay still in the hall. His head was scarred with a blooded slit and his face looked as if it had lost a battle to Frank Bruno. I presume he fell from the top of the stairs, a cause of his alcohol intake. Whether that was what happened or not, one thing's for sure, I had nothing to do with my husbands death. I repeat. I did not kill Jack Banks.

I know what you're thinking. Two deaths in three days at the same house with one woman present at both. It kind of looks suspicious. It is for that reason, and that reason only, that I decided I needed to get rid of the body ... and I knew just the man to help.

"So you want me to dump the clothes, yes?" The man in front of me said in an accent I couldn't quite define. Definitely foreign, but he had only been a one night stand. Do you expect me to remember the origins of all my past lovers? I didn't think so.

"Yes." I replied. "Get rid of them in the river. I had a little scrap with hubby, he stormed out and left me. It's a pretty emotional time for me at the moment, you know, with the disappearance of Clara and all. I lost my patience and threatened him with a knife, he lunged forward, and I just lashed out. That's where the blood's from. Now I'm worried he might tell the police. He's a great exaggerator of the truth you know?"

"Really?" Pip asked, sounding suspicious of me. I only knew him as Pip. He had starred as a monkey in a children's play last Christmas. The monkey's name was Pip. I had always thought that was a silly name for a monkey.

I nodded my head and held the door open. Well, I wasn't going to trust anyone with the news that I was disposing of a lifeless body, was I?

Pip wandered out of the door muttering something under his breath. He turned around to face me and began to ask another question. I closed the door on him before he had the chance. I had work to do, and so did he. There wasn't time to stand around dwelling on his curiosities.

I watched Pip drive away, then rushed to retrieve my naked corpse spouse from the cupboard under the stairs. I looked down at his body and actually felt pity for him. I wondered how many times he had tried to stretch his penis in attempt to lengthen it, then disregarded the thought as a feeling of nausea crept up in me.

Dragging Jack's body to the door, I opened it once more, checked to see that no one was watching, then rushed outside, grabbed the dustbin and carried it back to the house. His body just fit inside. I was glad it did, I wasn't looking forward to decapitating him. After all, his head was his biggest feature!

I wheeled the dustbin outside, smiling at a passer by as he walked his dog, which barked at me ... or maybe at Jack. I waited until he was out of sight, then loaded the dustbin into the boot of my car and drove off in the direction of the river.

I watched Pip throw the stained garments into the polluted water. I realised it would take a while for them to sink, but when the water filled the material to it's capacity they would soon go under. Pip didn't seem bothered to wait for this, and instead returned to his vehicle and headed back down the road.

I waited until he was a tiny speck in the distance and then took my chance.

I flung open the boot and took out the dustbin. It seemed heavier now, than it had done back at Jack's house, and I struggled to lift it free of the car's confinements. I had just about managed it when a tap on the shoulder startled me. I spun around.

Pip stood staring at me. Staring with burning eyes. "You lied to me." He said, his tone of voice cold. "No I never" I lied. "I'm just ... dumping some rubbish." The strain on my arms gave way and the heavy bin fell to the floor. To my horror Jack's arm flopped it's way out of the top.

"An arm." Pip declared, his eyes transfixed on the exposed limb.

"Yes, yes it is an arm. So what are you going to do about it, monkey boy?"

Pip looked at me blankly then laughed. "You are a murderous liar", he accused, "and if you ever come to my country, I swear, my dear lady, I will kill you!"

"And where exactly is your country?"

"A country like no other. A country where liars are not welcome. A country where the streets have no name." Pip left on that note, got into his car and drove away. The poor boy must have overdosed on U2. That, I figured, would be the last I saw of him.

I continued with my task. Poking the arm back inside the bin, I began to push it towards the river. When I reached the bank, I took a short breather, then pushed the bin, sending it flying into the running river below. Then, I got back in my car and drove home to Jack's mansion as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

That, more or less, brings me up to the present, in my hotel turned house, in Blackpool. I bought the owners out and moved myself in, with respect to Jack and our wedding night. Now the widowed Mrs. Banks, I helped myself to the money in Jack's account and sold his house and possessions.

The police have given up for now. They think I'm not home. They will be back tomorrow no doubt, but I won't be here then. I won't even be in England. They found the bodies in the river, they're sure I am the killer of both, but as you and I both know, I did not kill the Banks'. As far as I know Clara fell victim to her love sick husband, and Jack, to his drinking. Now I understand why rich folk don't like to overdo it on the liquor.

My taxi's here now. I must go or I'll be late for my flight.

---------------------

I'm happy to say I arrived safely. I knew karma was just a myth to scare wrong doers ... not that I've done anything wrong. The weather's fantastic. The sun is shining beautifully. I am surrounded by attractive men, all of whom have charm and are just as attracted to my wealth as I was to Jack's. I feel like I belong here, amongst all this grace. I also feel like I'm presenting 'Wish you where here'. 'Pleasantries from Hawaii!"

I turned the corner, my flowered neck accessory swaying in the light, airy breeze. No-one knew anything about me here. No-one judged on a name. Even the streets weren't sign posted!

"I told you not to come here." A voice muttered from behind me. I froze in my tracks, not daring to look around. I felt sick, my head spun. I slowly looked in the direction of the voice.

Pip stood there surrounded by tough looking friends, one of whom had a gun, which he handed over to Pip. The gun clicked as he loaded the bullets, then ... he pressed the trigger.

Of course, I thought, I remember where Pip hail's from. Hawaii. The place where the streets have no name...

The end

Copyright c)2001 Sammi Leng