Mr. Suit by Nigel Bird

Chapter 1
    T he
urge to hit out at her husband grew inside Liza like Triffids. Living like this
was driving her insane. She moved her hands behind her back and gripped tightly
to her chunky bangles to make sure a slap didn’t escape her thoughts.
    This was going to be a special day, so she’d chosen a special outfit to match,
the daffodil yellow two-piece she’d worn on their honeymoon. It clung to her as
well now as it had done in Majorca the day after their wedding. The low cut of
her dress and the dizzying height of the hem of her skirt were perfect for what
she had in mind.
    When
she finally found out for certain that she’d married a gangster, Liza got used
to the idea that Archie might end up doing a spell in prison. Even so, this
wasn’t what she had in mind. Locked-in Syndrome had never entered the picture.
She’d always thought of him behind bars on 3 square meals a day, not as this
living shadow of a man.
    Archie
closed his eyelids:
    1,
2, 3 blinks – ‘C’.
    It
took so long for him to tell her anything.
    Liza’s
body filled with impatience top to toe, like cement was being poured into her
from a great height. Felt like her head was a pressure cooker needing to let
off steam. She twisted her slender fingers into her long, blond hair, ever
hopeful she might make it curl. When the twists became tight enough the roots
lifted her scalp. She pulled as hard as she could for as long as she could bear
the pain.
    4,
5, 6 ...
    It
wasn’t his fault, after all. A bullet to the brain would have done for anyone.
Still, it was difficult to see the man she married in the wilting frame before
her, head lolling into the wheelchair’s rest, the residue of dribble crusting
at the corners of his mouth and leaving slug trails down his black beard.
    7,
8, 9 ...
    ‘Till
death do us part.’ That’s what they’d promised each other all those years
earlier, three grown up children and two dogs later. And they’d meant it at the
time.
    They
hadn’t been an average family, not with Archie’s line of work, but there had
always been plenty of money around. They’d mixed with the well-to-do lot they
met at the independent schools their children attended. Not that the quality of
the company had raised their status or that the children’s education had made
much difference. They never really managed to clean the muck from their working
class roots. Couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was looking down at them.
    Jenny,
their eldest, had turned to dancing to get her away from home. Was working
cruise ships on the Med. They hardly heard from her unless she needed cash.
    The
middle child, Greg, had been to university. Not to Oxbridge. Not even to the
North East. Took a third-class degree in sports psychology with him when he
left the University of North London; his grandparents would have been so proud.
Shame he hadn’t managed to find a job after graduating. He spent most of his
time down the bookies or perfecting the art of game-playing on the X-Box these
days.
    Miriam
was the youngest. She was also the black sheep. Left school with no
qualifications to her name and nothing going for her other than that she had a
body that was a carbon copy of her mum’s - shapely legs, tight buttocks, tiny
waist, pert breasts and a beauty spot just above her lip on the right-hand side
of her face. Since the age of 16 she’d been dating minor celebrities and
appearing in the paper from time-to-time. She’d slowly worked her way up to
footballers from the lower leagues, but the latest flame had been kept a secret
for over a month. Must have been someone very important for her to keep her
mouth shut for so long.
    Mostly
Liza’s family were a typical dysfunctional unit. Until the shooting that was.
    Since
then it had been a nightmare. All Liza could think about was stopping it all.
And Archie felt just the same.
    “End
it,” he’d tell her. “Plese.” He never could spell. Never saw the need to learn.
Breaking bones and intimidating