and Daisy wanted to play Scrabble. Usually that bored Dom. Most games bored him, and he’d often feel more inclined to watch some TV with her, or perhaps encourage her to get some sketching paper out and keep herself occupied.
That evening, however, he felt different.
Later, with Daisy in bed, he brought out a bottle of Emma’s favourite wine. She liked dry white straight from the fridge, so cold that it sometimes gave him brain freeze. They sat in the garden together and drank the bottle, then when they went inside around 10 p.m. he made them mojitos.
‘A less suspicious woman would think you were after something,’ Emma said.
‘Innocent me?’ Dom asked.
They made love on the sofa, moving to the living room floor when they became more energetic and the leather made too much noise. Jazz barked at them, and Dom had to jump up and shut her in the kitchen. Then he returned to his wife, and the heat didn’t matter, the uncomfortable rug bothered neither of them. They came together.
Dom knew it was one of those evenings that would stay with him forever. A perfect time.
‘I like today,’ Emma said later when they were snuggled in bed. It was hot, but they both enjoyed the contact. ‘It’s a very not-like-you day.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ he said. But he was not offended. He liked her thinking that.
Soon they disentangled themselves and Emma fell asleep.
Dom took a lot longer to drift off. He spent a long time staring at the ceiling, thinking, and feeling not quite himself.
‘Mad dogs and Englishmen,’ Dom said.
‘Huh?’
‘Go out in the midday sun.’
‘What the hell are you on about?’ Andy was in the driver’s seat. It was Dom’s car, but Dom had not wanted to drive. He’d muddied up his own number plates and stuck colourful sun blinds in the back to distract attention.
Andy had just switched off the engine and left the keys in the ignition. They’d discussed that. It was to aid a quick getaway.
‘It’s a saying. A song, I think.’
‘Dom, you’re not flipping out on me, are you?’
‘Nah. I’m good.’ But Dom really couldn’t decide whether he was good or not. His body wouldn’t let him. He felt sick, his stomach rolled like he wanted a shit, he had a headache, sweat soaked his T-shirt and shorts, slick against the car’s upholstery. It was due to be the hottest day of the year so far, with a forecast that records would be broken. Even this early, sunlight scorched the air so that he could see everything with a crisp, awful clarity.
‘Because this is your last chance,’ Andy said. ‘Last time either of us can back out. You know that, right? I explained? Once we get out of this car suited and booted, it’s on. No going back.’
‘Yeah, Andy, I’m fine. Honestly. Just nervous.’
‘Nervous is good. It’ll keep us alert. But you look petrified.’
Dom closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Andy let him, and he was grateful for that. Somewhere in the distance he heard the trilling of a kid’s bicycle bell, and it took him back thirty-five years to a childhood summer – playing cards taped between his Chipper bike’s spokes; TV footage of empty reservoirs with cracked beds; the smell of calamine lotion as his mother tended his sunburn. He took in a deep breath and the smell of sweat and latex snapped him back to the present.
‘So, you ready?’ Andy asked.
Dom looked past his friend, across the small square at the Blue Door cafe. This early in the morning there were only a couple of people there – an old man reading a broadsheet newspaper over breakfast, and a young mum with a pushchair. The table where the two of them had sat just three days before was deserted, and he imagined the ghosts of themselves there, watching in silent disbelief at what was about to occur.
‘Dom! You ready?’
‘I can’t believe …’
‘Okay.’ Andy touched the car keys, but didn’t turn them. ‘This isn’t happening. Let’s go.’
Something panicked Dom. A sense of failure he didn’t want, the idea that this ridiculous, otherworldly moment of his life might suddenly be over. Confusion skewed his sense of self, so much so that he glanced in the mirror to make sure he was still there.
Don’t always be a loser. Those words sat with him, heavy, echoing. As did, It’s a very not-like-you day.
‘Wait,’ Dom said. He picked up the child’s Hulk mask in his lap and slipped it on. It took a couple of seconds to place the eyes properly. His breathing sounded close and intimate, and he’d never been so aware of its sound. Too fast, too light. He breathed deeply again. Then Andy slapped his leg as he opened the driver’s door.
Dom opened his own door and stepped from the car, and from one breath to the next he changed his future.
The road was quiet, the small square still. The air outside was heavy, and only slightly cooler than inside the vehicle. He could smell cooking bacon, coffee, and dust, and the sun singed the already reddened skin of his forearms.
After a quick, nervous ride the previous day with Andy – including a roadside stop to discuss their plans – he’d spent the rest of the day in the garden with Emma and Daisy. They’d cut the lawn, dead-headed some rose bushes, and eaten a salad on the decking. He’d wanted it to be a normal Sunday. And it would have been, if today hadn’t been at the back of his mind. ‘Silly,’ Emma had said as she watched him moisturising his arms that evening. He’d forgotten sun cream.
At least he’d had heat and sunburn as an excuse for not being able to sleep.
No one seemed to have noticed them. The post office had only been open for an hour, and only a few of the display items were outside. The postmistress had been occupied accepting a delivery from the security van. The shop door was already blocked open in an attempt to keep the inside cool, and Dom heard tuneless whistling coming from the shadowy interior, and something else. The sibilant rhythms of a radio, song unidentifiable.
‘Two minutes,’ Andy said from behind his Iron Man mask. He went first, taking several confident strides and passing through the door. As he did so he lifted the carrier bag in his right hand, pointing its contents ahead of him.
Dom followed, drawing the smaller bag from his shorts pocket. It contained a chunk of wood, but it could have been anything. He entered just behind Andy, in time to see the postmistress standing behind the shop counter, eyes wide, lips still pursed in a silent whistle. The tune had died on her lips.
The radio still sounded from somewhere behind the shop. It sounded
