Chapter 19: 1996

"Just a few days left until Christmas," Keats muttered to himself as he cut a neat line along the strip of wrapping paper, "not too early for a little surprise gift, is it Simon?" He smirked to himself as he took one of his pre-prepared strips of sellotape and used it to tape the wrapping paper into place before flawlessly folding the ends into points and sticking those down too. His neat and meticulous handwriting graced the Christmas tree-shaped label that he was about to attach;

"Dear Simon, just a small gift to remind you of home this Christmas"

His smirk grew as he used his last piece of carefully measured tape to stick down the label and looked at his neat package with pride. Everything by the book – including present-wrapping.

He slipped the present into a brown envelope already labelled with Simon's name and title, then just for his own amusement tied it up with a frilly ribbon.

"I hope you like unorthodox presents, Simon," he smiled to himself as he picked up his keys and walked to the door, package under his arm, "I did think about aftershave or socks but thought you'd find this so much more interesting."

He made the journey to Fenchurch East and it didn't take long to get some passing chump to drop the parcel into reception where it was placed with the internal post. Mole not required. As long as it reached its target eventually that was all that mattered.

~xXx~

Simon trudged back to his office with the post under his arm and a slight sense of nausea. He'd made the mistake of visiting the canteen and thought he had chosen a fairly innocuous option of steak pie. In his hurry to sate his hunger he'd neglected to notice the 'and sprout' written in tiny text under the word 'steak'. He'd already consumed several mouthfuls when he started to realise that all was not what it seemed and that steak wasn't usually green and leafy. He had to admit that Gene had the right idea by staying well away.

Arriving back in his office he plopped the post down on the desk and sat back, watching Eddie attempting to pursue someone with mistletoe outside of the door. He had to feel sorry for the guy. All Eddie seemed to want was to enjoy a bit of an inter-dimension affair and so far the closest he'd even come to sharing a snog was when Bammo drew a fake lipstick mark on his tie one night in Bask.

The phone rang and Simon sighed instinctively. He was fairly sure he was due another toastercide incident and didn't really want to answer the phone to someone with thousands of volts running through them courtesy of a viciously fired pop tart.

"Yes?" he sighed into the receiver.

A smug laugh responded.

"Merry Christmas, Simon," Keats's vice greeted him.

"You're six days early, bugger off," said Simon.

"Raindrops on roses?"

Simon had been a moment away from hanging up but Keats's random offering stalled him for a moment.

"You what?"

"Whiskers on kittens?"

Simon closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. He'd flipped. He'd completely flipped. He'd been going that way since his coma, what with the bee impressions and all. Now he'd lost the plot.

"Thank you for your call, Julie Andrews," he began, "but I've got work to do."

"What am I saying?" Keats pretended to sound self-deprecating, "sorry, I meant brown paper packages tied up with string. Or with ribbon, in this case."

Simon froze as his eyes moved to the package that sat on top of the post. He swallowed. He hadn't even had a chance to look at the damn thing yet.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded stiffly.

"Those are a few of my favourite things," Keats concluded his slightly off-beat verse, "but I bet they won't be yours, Simon. Tell you what, why don't you open your present now? Only a few days early. Come on, live a little. Not like anyone's going to slap your wrists for it, is it?"

Simon dropped the phone back on the hook. He'd heard enough from Keats. He couldn't listen to that cryptic shit any longer. But that package now sat taunting him. He knew he was going to regret it if he opened it – Keats's 'gifts' so far hadn't exactly been a barrel of laughs – but somehow he couldn't fight the urge to see what was inside. He had to know.

Swallowing back his nerves he reached out and grabbed the parcel, struggling with the stupid ribbon that Keats had seen fit to adorn the outside of the package with. When it became clear that Keats was a master of wrapping and that he wasn't going to get the damn thing untied he grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk and snipped it away instead.

He slid his finger under the end of the envelope and opened it up, then took the gift-wrapped surprise out from inside. It rattled slightly. For a moment he worried that it might explode but he realised that Keats would most probably want front row seats to something like that so he assumed that as long as he wasn't lurking nearby then it was probably safe.

He threw a cursory glance at the label on the wrapped item, then discarded the wrapping paper. Inside were two audiotapes and some paperwork. He picked up one of the tapes and stared at the label.

Marriage Guidance: P & M Shoebury

Simon felt his heart flip-flop inside his chest as he read that. P and M; clearly his parents' initials. He felt his hands start shaking as he held it and carried on staring. He thought back to his early childhood and the rift that had broken out between his parents at one point. All he'd known about it at the time was that one of them suspected the other of cheating but his parents had never explained to him what actually happened and he never felt able to ask.

"Shit," he whispered. Where the fuck was Keats even getting this stuff? All his family's dirty little secrets. He must have been collecting them up for some time. Weeks? Months? What was the point of this stupid little game? So his parents had difficulties in their relationship – who didn't? He was surprised that Keats hadn't uncovered the detention he'd once served for accidentally liberating the class hamster at school too.

Oh god, he knew this was a mistake. He knew that listening to the tape was only ever going to lead to regret. But he didn't seem to be very good at regulating his choices when he knew that something was bad for him these days. He stood up and quickly closed the door and the blinds, then took the radio cassette recorder form the window ledge and stood it on his desk. He slipped the tape into the slot and pressed play before he could stop himself, when he closed his eyes, pressed his hands together and prayed to a god he didn't believe in that whatever he heard wasn't going to be as bad as his mind was telling him it would be.

~x~

"Alright, Paul, why don't you start today? How have you been feeling since our last session?

There was an audible sigh on the tape.

"How do you think I've been feeling? Knowing the truth just made me feel worse, not better."

"Have you had any contact between sessions?"

"Only to see the kids."

"And Marie?" Silence, "how have you felt since our last session?" More silence. "Have you been sleeping any better?" There didn't seem to be anything his mother wanted to say. "You need to talk if either of you are going to get anything out of this session, Marie."

"I feel like a bitch." Simon hadn't heard his mother's voice since he was five years old. He couldn't remember what it sounded like. And now, the first time that he'd heard it since he was so young, that was what he heard from her. "I feel like an absolute bitch. Just the same way I've felt since the night it happened, except now it's even worse because I'm not just feeling guilty about what I did… I'm feeling ten times as guilty for hiding it for years too."

"It was your choice, Marie."

"What choice did I have, Paul?" now there were tears filtering in through her words, "I hated myself for what I'd done and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I was so terrified of losing you. I love you too much for that to happen."

"But not enough to keep your knickers on."

"Paul!"

"This isn't going to get either of you anywhere. These sessions are here for you to work through what's happened calmly and rationally, not to descend into another argument. You both agreed at our last meeting that's been getting you nowhere. Has it?"

"No."

"No."

"So let's try talking individually again. Last week through that method you were both able to finally feel that your feelings had been heard. Paul, now that you've had a week to think about what Marie said and now that you've heard her side of the story spelt out calmly have your feeling changed?"

A long pause.

"Define 'changed'?"

"Do you feel that you are more likely to be able to overcome this? Can you understand why it happened?"

"Understand why it happened?"

"Paul, try to stay calm."

"I am calm!"

"Calmer than this." A pause. "How have your feelings changed since the whole truth came out?"

Silence.

"I'm torn."

"OK, that's a start… torn between what, Paul?"

"Torn… between something approaching relief that it wasn't an affair…it was just one night… fuelled by drink…" a pause. "And between feeling… disgusted that she had it in her to act that way with a couple of drinks inside her."

"Paul, I would never have –"

"Marie, this is Paul's turn to talk."

"That's all I had to say anyway."

Simon became aware of a large block of anguish building in his throat. It wasn't going anywhere and was threatening to choke him. He couldn't remember breathing in the last few minutes at all.

"Are you sure?" Silence "Alright, and Marie?"

A pained sigh.

"What?"

"How have your feelings changed from last week?"

More silence.

"I'm angrier."

"Angrier? With whom? Yourself? Paul?"

"My bloody family… the ones who got us all in trouble in the first place. If Jess and the… whole… peeing on a tramp incident hadn't happened then I would never have ended up on my own with the rest of my family locked up for the night and nowhere to go. I would never… never have gone home with someone… someone I didn't know…"

"No one made you fuck the bastard though!"

That was enough. Simon couldn't take another word. He struck the 'stop' button so hard he thought it might snap off and ran his fingers through his hair while breathing heavily. Anger, devastation and resentment started to build up inside of him as he jumped to his feet and paced up and down. How could his mother have done that? To his dad, to her kids, to her family? And how could they have covered it up and never told the truth? Was it shame? Embarrassment?

"Fuck," he cried, desperate to unhear what he'd just been listening to.

The files from the package still lay undisturbed on the desk along with a second tape. He'd heard enough from his parents' counselling for one day, he wasn't going to touch that tape with a fifty foot pole. With a shaking hand he lifted up the papers and read the front page;

Marriage Guidance Council: Notes from case FEN009341

Mr. P. S. Shoebury & Mrs M A Shoebury

Issues pinpointed: Infidelity (Mrs); 'One night stand' following heavy consumption of alcohol and arrest for drunk & disorderly; trust issues, secrecy, question over paternity of child #3, (Mr) wishing to seek divorce

Simon's heart was crushed inside his chest as those words sank in. He felt his legs go from beneath him as he crumpled to the floor, everything he thought he knew about his family in tatters.

Keats had never needed to take his soul. With a tape and a few sheets of paper He'd already shown him the meaning of hell.