Double Entry. Margaret McKinlay

still there and he was about to seal the door. John told him who he was and the man agreed to let him look around. ‘We’ve done all we want anyway,’ he said.

      He stayed in the close as John stepped warily inside, afraid of what he’d find and the first thing was broken glass under his feet. Then a sour smell filled his nose and he tracked that down to his bedroom where all his clothes had been removed from the wardrobe and dumped on the floor. The bedlinen was piled on top and it was from this heap that the smell came. He moved closer and then was repelled when he realized that someone had sprayed urine over everything. In all the other rooms the surfaces had been swept clear, curtains pulled down, pictures removed from the walls. It was all smashed, trampled under feet that had delighted in wrecking his home. Photographs were scattered around and he salvaged a few that had escaped being fouled by urine.

      Nothing else was worth saving. It hadn’t been expensively furnished. Most of the bits and pieces didn’t even match because in those early days of marriage they had bought what they could afford. They went to auctions and he had a sudden vivid picture of Trish’s delight when she had the highest bid. She didn’t know the finer points of bidding and instead of a discreet nod she waved her brochure. The auctioneer and regular dealers had got to know her and because her excitement was so infectious they soon called her by name. One or two even kept their eyes open for things she wanted and they would phone up and tell her about a nice coffee table or a picture they’d seen. And she’d be off, slender as a boy in tight jeans, her fair hair tied back from her face, aglow with excitement.

      The memories were very vivid and the old pains of grief were awakened. John kicked aside slashed cushions from the suite and uncovered a picture that had been a favourite. Somehow it had escaped damage and he picked it up. Two horses in a field full of buttercups. Trish had chosen it because she said the horses were in love. ‘Just look at the way he’s nuzzling her neck.’

      ‘Like this?’ he’d said, brushing his lips against the back of her neck. Any excuse to make love …

      Since entering the flat he’d felt anger rising in his chest and now it exploded. ‘Damn you!’ he shouted at the bare windows. ‘Bastards!’

      The word trailed away as he surveyed the room. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The last remnants of his marriage were gone, smashed and fouled.

      The policeman came silently into the room and stood just inside the door. He seemed willing to wait patiently but John had had enough. He turned to face him, wanting some hint that the men who had done this would be found and gaoled.

      ‘What sort of animals are they?’ he asked savagely, and although the policeman had probably seen it all before he still showed sympathy.

      ‘If they don’t find anything worth taking and if they have the time … they like to do this. Don’t ask me why,’ he added in disgust. ‘They weren’t pros anyway. A pro wouldn’t have smashed the lock to get in. Wonder why your neighbours didn’t hear anything?’

      ‘In this area people go into their flats and shut out the world. I don’t know many of them even by sight,’ John said wearily. He followed the policeman out and pulled the outer door shut and while his hand was still on the doorknob, he said goodbye to the flat and his wife. He knew he would never come back. It was finished. The animals who had taken such delight in smashing his home and finally made him say goodbye to his Trish and he wanted to face them one day. He wanted to drive his fists into their faces and he felt no shock at the violence of his feelings.

      He wanted to find them and make them suffer and the feeling wasn’t going to go away.