Something More About Mary

Please be aware, the author of this story does not in anyway condone the activities described or hinted at within the narrative. All characters are fictional. Also please note this only draft two so reviewers please don't mark on a punctuation basis.

Something More About Mary
By Daniel Adams

Simon looked up, the ‘tsk-tsk’ of his shoe brush paused. The double glazed kitchen window framed his daughter playing in the garden.
Pretty as a picture.
It was a warm sunny Saturday. The type of day that one looks forward to, the type of day described in books and faerie stories. It was also payday everybody paid today apart from him. A day could be so many things to so many people at once reflected Simon as he watched Mary skipping rhythmically upon the patio. For him Saturdays were a day for cleaning, tidying and making things right. All his shoes were now spotless and bright no trace of dirt sullied them. The lounge was hoovered, his shirts ironed and hanging in his cupboard. He finished off the heel of his last shoe, then buffed it with a piece of torn rag before setting the pair in their allotted place upon the shoe stand by the front door.
Coming back he folded up the local newspaper he’d used to protect the kitchen table and threw it into the bin. Glimpsing again sad morning headline Girl Murdered in Memorial Gardens on the front page. He cleared away the shoe polishes and brushes, putting them into the cupboard by the back door. The murder was a sickening story, a young girl had gone out to buy some sweets and had been found stuffed naked under a park bench late last night. He shook his head; it was sick what people would do, murdering innocent children. Simon was not sure who was more disgusting, the murderer or the girl’s parents. If you let your seven-year-old child walk out alone at night you deserve to have her murdered.
Putting the thought from his mind, he turned his attentions to tidying the kitchen, which he always left until last so that he did not have to clean it twice if there was any form of shoe polish accident. He put the breakfast plates into the dishwasher and the jam back in the fridge. Then, licking the sweet residue from his fingers, he wiped the sticky mess from the breakfast bar and set out fresh placemats on its varnished pine top.
Everything was clean inside. Mary was outside. Today was a pure day. He lit a cigarette.
With all practical requirements of a Saturday morning dealt with, his gaze drifted back to the garden. Teddington the bear sat on the patio table, watching Mary with vacant glass eyes, no doubt giving encouragement. She took Teddington everywhere with her, the stuffed toy never left her side, except for a short while each Saturday. As he watched her, Mary put the skipping rope down and chalked out a hopscotch grid on the patio stones and began happily hopping over the squares. Simon was sure that if she had been able she would have been laughing.
She was a quiet girl more through forced necessity than choice. Mary had been born in a bed of blood and pain. Her birth had haemorrhaged her mother and the doctors could not save her. Joy and loss juxtaposed, as one life was brought forth silently, another bled silently away into hospital sheets. Today would have been their tenth wedding anniversary, if all those years ago God had not given and taken simultaneously. What more proof did anybody need that God was a man? The birth had been premature and Mary’s voice box had not formed properly. Consequently Mary was voiceless.
He watched Mary’s legs move her majestically across the numbered squares, he sighed. Such a price she had to pay.
The doorbell rang.
Simon smiled, payday had arrived.

* * *

Teddington sat, propped up on the patio table watching Mary playing. It was a nice warm summer day – the type that although lovely and warm would cause his cloth to fade if he was left in direct sunlight too long, he was only six but constant love had left him tired worn and looking much too old for his tender age. Thankfully he had some shade from the umbrella sticking through the table.
The door ringleby rang. It had a proper name but Teddington didn’t know what it was. He was only a Teddy bear!
At the sound Mary froze, one leg in mid-air, poised to hop to the next square and finish the sequence. But she simply stood unmoving. Slowly her hovering foot sank to the stone. She turned snatching Teddington from the patio table and holding him closely. Teddington smiled his chest full of pride, he loved Mary and Mary loved him. Teddington liked being hugged, that was what he was for. He knew that because it said so on his label: Hug the bear who’s always there. However the constant hugging was starting to pull at his stitching and he feared he might split and burst soon. If that happened his insides would become outsides: what use would he be to Mary then? He had tried telling her, she didn’t listen. But she loved him despite his bald spots and lopsided bear nose so he didn’t complain too loudly on the matter. Besides, he liked being hugged. It was warm and snugly.
A butterfly fluttered past, Teddington giggled as Teddy bears can. He stopped giggling as his world turned up side down. Mary was holding him by his leg as she went down the garden. Every Saturday she went down the garden and hid in the tree house. Her daddy always found her in the end so Teddington was not worried that she might get lost. A cat ran out of the hedge as Mary neared the tree, Teddington made a playful swipe at the black moggy but missed; it hissed at him and ran back into the hedge. His aim had never been very good, especially when being held upside down by a leg. Teddies could do many things but swiping, playful or otherwise, was not generally one of them.

* * *

Teddington sat in Mary’s lap. The tree house was bare, apart from an old piece of carpet and a few creepy crawlies who made their homes there.
Teddington could never make his home in the tree house; it was too cold at night and he couldn’t climb. Mary and he often went on late night adventures to the end of the garden so he knew it got cold. She used to get her clothes and put them in a bag. She then crept downstairs and out of the house, usually carrying Teddington – as was her habit – by his leg. She never went further than the end of the garden; the metal worm that roared past the hedge frightened her. A Twain? Train? Trame? Teddington could not remember what Mary’s daddy had called it.
At night the house looked scary too, just the thought of it made Teddington shiver. The reflection of the moon transformed the upstairs windows into eyes and the patio doors into a wailing mouth. The house became a frightful weeping face; the ivy beneath Mary’s window ran down the wall like tears. It was worrisome. Teddington was not sure if Mary was more frightened of the train or her home.
He sighed. Mary couldn’t speak, or at least not like her daddy, with words. But that did not bother Teddington much, some bonds transcended the need for words, the relationship between girl and teddy was one such bond. She made noises sometimes but it was rare, like she was frightened of the things her noises would mean. Or perhaps Mary was worried nobody would listen? Teddington was a teddy bear, it was his job to sit and listen! He sniffed sadly to himself; it was his job even if sometimes he did not understand. She cried more than she used to as well.
Perhaps he would come to understand? When he got older? He was only a teddy bear after all, still only six years old at that.
A big horn sounded and through the doorway Teddington saw the long segmented silver twain zoom past the end of the garden. It always went past around now. A silent silhouette rose over the doorway. Mary had been found by her daddy. He felt himself being lifted from Mary’s lap which was now wet.

* `* *

Simon took the envelope from Nigel briefly checking its contents. Mary was now up in her room. He had taken her straight upstairs and cleaned the urine from her legs, making her change into a clean dress. He smiled to himself and slipped the envelope into his pocket, it was reassuringly heavy. As he took a seat opposite his guest he thought to himself – not for the first time – that today was the day.
‘Uncle’ Nigel sat with his tea and half eaten Bakewell tart - conspicuously missing its cherry – on the lounge sofa.
“How’s Mary?” asked Nigel around a mouthful of tart.
“She’s fine, just playing in her room.” Said Simon looking speculatively at his so-called friend. He was big man whose muscle had long ago gone to fat. He always looked untidy and unkempt as though he felt his own body was slightly uncomfortable. Today however there seemed an almost bird-like nervousness about him. His ever-present crows feet were sharper and more defined, threatening to pierce the bags under the man’s eyes, which looked smaller and beadier than usual. He looked like a Magpie that had stolen something it should not have - a fitting analogy considering where Nigel had laid his egg.
“ How did the school problem go?” Even his voice sounded drawn thought Simon as he watched his guest nesting deeper into the chair.
“I’ve had a word with the School and apologised to the parents of the boy she kicked. The boy’s Paediatrician gave him the all clear. I spoke to Mary and she understands you can’t go kicking boys between the legs.” He took a sip of his tea.It had been a very difficult episode for Simon. The school had been concerned that Mary was not mixing well with the others in her special school; the head teacher had come close to insisting that Mary see a child psychologist but Simon had managed to avoid that – it would not do to have people prying into their life.
“Good to hear,” Replied Nigel sitting back and crossing his legs. Simon eyed the plastic carrier bag at Nigel’s feet.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Oh something for Mary,” said Nigel.
“Not needed.”
“I know, but I like to. She’s a good girl and I was a bit mean to her last time.”
“Don’t fret on that Nigel. I give Mary the occasional smack when she has played up. You’re practically family and she has to learn she can’t throw things.” Simon couldn’t put his finger on quite what it was, but Nigel seemed nervous. Simon asked him about it; today was not a day for nervous guests.
“I’m fine, just didn’t sleep too well last night.” The big man paused a moment and Simon interjected before he could go on.
“ Sorry Nigel, I don’t mean to rush things but you’ve paid me, please go and enjoy your hour with Mary. I need to go out later, I’m sure you understand.” Nigel nodded quickly getting to his feet. Simon was pleased to see the anticipatory glint come into the other man’s eyes.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to keep you. I really do love visiting her.” With that he picked up the plastic bag and made his way out into the hall and up the stairs. As Simon watched Nigel leave the room he could barely suppress a gleeful smile. He had set the date years ago; everything led up to this moment. Today was payday; a day of reckoning and Nigel would pay dearly in far more than cash before it was finished.


* * *

Teddington’s hackles were up, this was bad; he shouldn’t be away from Mary when she was so sad. She could not hug him if he wasn’t there. It clearly said on his label that he was ‘the bear that’s always there’. It made Teddington very cross when Mary’s daddy would put him here on the table, muttering something to himself about bad associations, none of which made any sense to Teddington? How could Teddington become a bad association? He was going to give her daddy a good talking to when he next saw him.
He watched angrily as the man who always made Mary cry made his way ponderously up the stairs. Teddington had seen this man before, small eyes like buttons, always with that funny gleeful look. He did not like him at all. At the top of the stairs the man paused, his gaze travelling from Teddington to the door of Mary’s bedroom and back again. Finally he set a bag down next to Teddington. “ A friend for you Teddington; see if you can comfort him. I fear I’ve done him great wrong,” sighing he pushed the plastic down to reveal the white Teddy bear. Then he turned and walked through the door into Mary’s room.
Teddington gasped.It was a grubby looking bear, its bottom half seemed matted with mud and red paint. Some owners could be very careless. It looked even more worn than he, in places its seams had burst and its insides had become outsides. Teddington shivered; would that happen to him? Fighting down rising panic Teddington decided to speak to the bear who’s expression was very sad.
“Hello,” said Teddington to the newcomer. “ I’m Teddington.”
The white bear turned to regard him, its eyes spinning with madness and grief.
“She’s dead,” it whispered. “He killed her. We only went out to by some sweets, only to by some sweets but now she is dead.”

* * *

Simon looked up from the book he was reading as Nigel came in and rather annoyingly flopped into the chair opposite his. He looked even more worn than when he first arrived; but that was not surprising. Simon became aware of the silence and resolved to put up with the delay; it was sometimes rewarding to converse with Nigel after he had visited Mary’s bedroom. Nigel broke the silence first.
“ Why…why do you do it Simon?” The meaning of his question was plain, but the very fact Nigel thought to ask it made Simon angry.
“Developing a conscience all of a sudden?” He replied coldly. “ I could well ask you the same thing.” Nigel missed the threat, even chuckling quietly to himself.
“A deviant with a conscience? Nah, bit late for that.” He was dry washing his hands as he said it, as if hoping to cleanse himself with the motion. He looked at his watch. “My my, is that all the time I’ve got left?” He sighed to himself and looked Simon in they eye. “This is the last time I will be coming to visit Mary.” Simon was shocked. This was not what he had expected this was not what he had planned. But he let the silence continue, he could see Nigel was building up the courage to speak and suspected he was about to discover what had made him act so oddly earlier. When he finally did speak the man’s voice was tinged with fear. “I’ve got something I need to tell you. I did a terrible thing…I’m not just a deviant anymore you see. I’m a…,” he swallowed before pushing on, “…it was me who killed the girl – the one from the memorial gardens.” He sniffed as his eyes began to water. “ I didn’t mean to…she just kept screaming and wouldn’t be quiet. Not like Mary, not like her at all. I was frightened somebody would come so I hit her with a rock…but I couldn’t stop hitting her.”
Simon smiled, guilt was written all over Nigel’s face even the tears were coming now. Simon could not have foreseen this; payday was not going as Simon had planned it, it was far better. Truly fate had gifted him this day for his revenge; it was perfect. His resolution firmed, years of hot venom and hatred for the man sitting opposite solidified into cold hard purpose.
“ Do you remember my wife Nigel, do you remember what happed to her?” Nigel’s eyes widened a little.
“Didn’t you hear what I said I killed the…?”
“…I heard you perfectly just answer my fucking question.” Spat Simon.
“Yes I remember, she died giving birth, so you named your daughter after her.”
“Half right.” He said settling himself comfortably and fixing his eyes avidly upon Nigel’s features, he was going to savour every expression that crossed the man's face. “ I’m not going to lie to you Nigel, you have done a sick thing but it's my turn to tell a little story now. My wife and I were married four years; you should know that, you were at the wedding. But did you know that today would have been our tenth wedding anniversary?” Nigel shook is head mutely. “It is a shame she was unfaithful for most of our time together, don’t you think?” He gave a dramatic sigh as if the answer to the rhetorical question was obvious. “Of course I was devastated when I found out my wife was fucking you. How can I do this to my own daughter you ask me? I’m infertile Nigel.” Simon smiled viciously
“She isn't my daughter…she’s yours.”
Simon laughed harshly. Shock dawned on Nigel’s florid face. “ You fucked my whore wife for free, but I made sure you paid me to fuck your daughter.” With delight he watched the truth seep through. “ Please tell me again just how much you love to visit Mary. Tell me how much you love to touch her, to feel her soft hairless skin…surely you must love her even more now…those eyes of hers, so similar to your own.Please Nigel do tell me again how much you love to fuck your daughter.”
Silence reined as Simon watched Nigel’s fat face fall flat. Even now he could see him reworking everything he had done over the past few years, looking back over his actions and re-evaluating them in this new context. He could almost hear him replaying their conversations together suddenly understanding how Simon’s honeyed words had led him down this path of debauched paedophilia. Pay day…oh such a heavy price. Revenge was truly sweet – as sweet as a father’s love for his daughter.

* * *

Teddington breathed a sigh of relief. The summer day seemed so fun, swinging upside down in summer sun. Mary had taken him up and together they had sneaked down stairs and out of the back door. Once again Marry had come to the end of the Garden, but this time she had not stopped, instead she pushed onwards through the hedge. In the distance a horn sounded.