Dark Night of the Soul

Chapter 10

Dave wakes with a throbbing head. The ineffective but noisy aircon in his grimy Travelodge room makes intermittent growling sounds. He throws back the covers and walks over to the window overlooking the car park. He remembers where he is and why he is here but there's a hazy feeling that he's forgotten something crucial. Dave rubs his hands in glee thinking about 'why' he is here ... money. He will finally get his payday. Small recompense for the past 13 years of broken dreams.

Dave takes his laptop from his bag and clears a space on the desk, swiping empty crisp packets to the floor. He takes a swig from a beer bottle but finds it empty. Nevermind, he has more important things to do. He taps in his password and leans back in his chair to give his groin a good scratch.

Frantic typing and he's in. His beloved dark web where all of his dreams can come true. He wends his way to a page showing a grainy image of a room and waits.

Just then, there's a knock on the door. 'Erm. No. Just. Wait a minute.' Dave slams the laptop cover shut, adjusts himself and shuffles over to the door.

'Letter for you, sir,' says a spotty boy, wearing an ill-fitting waistcoat. Dave takes the letter and closes the door with a grunt. In it is a single photo. A slightly faded image of a man and two young boys. Identical twins, one on each knee. Dave looks at it with incredulity and throws it to the floor. He walks back to the window and gazes at the clouds.

His mind throws up memories that he would rather forget. Hazy but painful ones. Dave had never had a long-term relationship but had developed an understanding with the barmaid from his local pub. She was easy to be with and never complained when he turned on the TV to watch Jeremy Clarkson strut around the Top Gear set. She would even bring him a beer as he sat guffawing.

But one day, she had brought earth-shattering news. She was pregnant, with twins. And she was sure that they were his. Dave hadn't known how to react. Part of him was proud of his virility but he had mainly felt fear and revulsion.

Dave had felt a fleeting sensation of pride, maybe even love, when William and Angus were born but it had soon faded as he tried to maintain his usual lifestyle:

walk to the newsagents in the morning for a pack of Embassy and The Sun;

telly; and

watch the horseracing on a Friday, tapping bets into his laptop with stubby nail-bitten fingers.

His only source of income was diminishing repeat fees from In The Night Garden which he kept for himself.

On rare occasions, after drinking endless pints of Carling at the pub, he would tag along to the curry house with a group of like-minded men. Always out to impress the lads, Dave would order himself a lamb vindaloo and a keema naan. He would instantly regret his choice but why change the habit of a lifetime? When home alone on a weekday, Dave would relish splashing out on a chicken tikka masala with plain rice. After much searching, he had finally found a curry house that didn't ruin a good meal with cardamom pods.

His repeat fees barely covered the cost of his eating and drinking. Plus he had to pay for the latest games for his cherished console. 'I'm sorry, love,' he had told Jane. 'I just can't afford to make regular payments for the boys. Here, have a tenner though.'

When the constant sniping from Jane got too much, Dave had moved to the other side of town. Near the shopping precinct. Handy for his favourite Wetherspoons where he eventually got a job as a bouncer ('security attendant' he used to tell people) on a Saturday night. Pin money for his two new loves: collecting nazi memorabilia and fixing up a decrepit 1963 Jaguar S-type that he bought for £50 on ebay.