Warrickson

Warrickson

By William Keleny

  Cathy rang the doorbell and clutched the bag of apples with both hands.                               “Forgot my key,” she said as Freddy opened the door. “I got what you need for the pudding.”                                                                                                                                                                     “Excellent. I just made some tea?”                                                                                                                 Her husband had taken to camomile recently, but Cathy remained with Mint. Freddy had forgotten to buy the correct tea twice, and they had decided she would do the shopping while he would do the cooking. And it worked. Last Christmas he had produced the best roast duck their friends had ever tasted. She had not thought it possible for them to manage a café and still have such a tidy home life. Freddy was the best at commanding the staff whilst she looked after the accounts. He had the leadership skills, and she was a meticulous record keeper.

“Here we are.” Freddie lowered the tray onto the coffee table. It was then that he realized the antler crucifix had fallen off the mantle piece. It was an artwork his father had made, about the size of a brick; A crucifix with a miniature deer skull attached to the front, all made with wire, cord and plasticine clay. His father had taken up these strange hobbies since Freddies mother had passed away in 2001. Freddy had always found it impossible to combine Mr Crafty’s Blue and Big Boy’s Plasticine Formula, but his father had conquered them both. He had giving thought to every groove of the skull, and remodelled the anatomy eight times. When painting it he had achieved that perfect shade of off-white. Next, he had made the pale of the bone transition perfectly into the brown of the antlers. Then, with an astonishingly steady hand, he had taken the Big Boys Formula skull, and sculpted it onto the front of the Mr Crafty’s Blue crucifix. The positioning of the skull was a little wonky, but the talent was overwhelmingly clear. His father had been very pleased with himself on that day; the knotwork patterns on the crucifix perfected, the colours balanced and the skull settled into position. Satisfied that the artwork had not been damaged, Freddie placed it back on the mantlepiece. They relaxed into the afternoon slumber, and Cathy appreciated how many things they had managed to get done this week. The argument over the painting of the living room had been resolved and the business was doing very well. Soon Freddy reckoned, it would take over their entire lives which would of course mean less time with their friends. They were seen almost as leaders in the neighborhood. It had all started in late 2015 not long after they had arrived in Barnet. Two of their neighbors, Andrew Hollis and Tina May had got into a furious argument. Tina had workmen building a new roof on her garage, and the music they played had driven Andrew insane. When they had refused to turn it down he had threatened to call the police, even though it was clear he had no grounds for doing so. It was at that moment that Tina arrived back home with her two children. As she stepped out of the car, she was met with a furious outburst from Andrew, about how she, and the workmen, and half the council were persecuting him. “You’re mummy’s not very nice,” he had informed her children.                                                             “Get of my property!” Cathy had heard Tinas voice from across the road. Next came Andrew’s yelp as a half brick hit him in the face. Cathy and Freddy had talked Andrew into not pressing charges and made him and Tina shake hands. From then on the neighbourhood had looked to Cathy and Freddy, as the ones who’s calm influence provided closure. Afternoon tea in the Warrickson’s house had ended month long blood feuds in apology and laughter.                                                                                                                    

   “Looks like nature is coming back.” Freddy was refilling his tea. “I saw some of those tiny little baby frogs.”                                                                                                             “Oh you mean in the wood pile.”                                                                                                                 Freddy had been sure to introduce Andrew and Tina to his passion for gardening. He wanted to let the wild claim its share, yet still keep the place ordered. Freddies father had said that if you wanted wildlife in your garden, you shouldn’t dispose of anything wooden. Let the useless wood rot, keep the human hand out of it, and fungi, amphibians and insects would all appear. Jamie Warrickson would have his son pile up old chairs, broken shelves or redundant coffee tables, to encourage the wildlife to come back. Then he had planted a forest of tall shrubs. It was intriguing for guests; the sort of place you felt you could get lost in. You could go exploring, drink merlot and watch the frogs . Using his fathers model, Freddie had created a perfect balance between chaotic beauty and comfortable order. It was a beautiful wilderness, but still ideal for parties. As a reward for the heavy lifting, Freddy would be taken to the funfair that occupied the football pitch every summer. Then they would go for a pizza, and Jamie Warrickson would remind his son, “Work was invented to make play enjoyable.” He had always proved a loving father.                                                                                    “I was thinking,” Freddy said, sipping his tea. “Why don’t we go away somewhere. You know visit Greece or something.                                                                                                    “What just take a month off,” said Cathy. “Leave the business in Donnies hands?”

There was a noise of feet in the driveway. A man with a camara could be seen just beyond the shrubs in the front garden. They sprung up in unison.                                                                                                      “Get out!” yelled Freddy.                                                           The man continued to click away.                                      They ran outside.                                                                                                         “Get out! Get out!”                                                                                                               The man stared at them incredulously. He genuinely didn’t seem to understand that he was intruding on their privacy.             “Can’t you leave us alone,” Cathy raged.

She then saw there were two other people standing just outside the driveway.                                                                                                        “Cathy, can you tell us how life had been.”                    “Recently its been bloody terrible because of people like you,” she yelled.                          “Freddy can you tell us what your fathers crucifix symbolizes.”      “Is it regret?”                                                                                                          “Leave….now!”

The party retreated down the street.                                                                                                         “Wretched bloody journalists have no respect,” Cathy declared and strode back into the house.  

Freddy spent the evening cooking the quails and making the apple pudding. He made sure to give himself as many tasks as possible these days, to distract him from the ever present menace of journalists. He thought back wistfully to the summer BBQ of 2016, before the local paper had found out who they were. Andrew and Tina had been there, aswell as a few other friends and colleagues. Tina had brought her niece Vicky. The girl was a bright but shy seventeen year old who spent most of the time eating, inspecting the property, and only giving the minimum response when approached. “You’re a lucky man to have Cathy.” Andrew had never had much luck with women. “I seem to only attract money grabbers.”                                                                                                       “Cathy is a wonderful woman.” Freddy handed him another beer. “She helped me give up smoking and get on the highway again. She was the one who had the idea for the café you know.”                                                                                                            “You got any Kronenburg Freddy?” It was Hannah, one of their staff members. “Say Andrew have you seen that religious symbol they’ve got in their living room?”                                                                                 Andrew was opening his beer. “No.”                                                                                                       “Funny little crucifix thing with antlers on it.”

“Just a little artwork my dad made.” Freddy started flipping over the burgers. “I could maybe make some more like that. We’re lucky there’s a shop nearby that does the right paint.”                                                                                                             “Crucifix with antlers on it eh?” Andrew swigged his beer. “Its official, Freddy and Cathy are satanists. Hey Vicky you might want to minister too them.”                                                                                             Vicky had been attending a Bible group for the past year. Freddy thought it was unusual that a seventeen year old would get religion. He had thought teenagers would naturally want to rebel against thousand year old traditions. But then he had realised it made sense. Young people were more anxious than most about all that; why was I put on this earth, where am I going, and what does it all mean in the end.                                                                                                                “Minister too them,” asked Vicky nervously.                               “He’s got a crucifix with antlers on it,” Hannah told her.        Vicky looked at Freddie with excitement.                                                                                                   “Can I see it.”                                                                                                                    “Of course,” said Freddy. “You don’t need to ask permission.”

 Vicky had approached the crucifix as if it were ancient writing. After a few minutes she said, “It represents conflict.” She turned. “Are you OK. I can see you’re struggling with something.”

Freddy laughed                                                                                                         “Right now I’m struggling with whether or not to break out more beer. Me and Cathy, we have to do the accounts tonight you see.”                                                                                                                     The teenager smiled. What followed was hours of conversation about the art of the ancient world. Further into the evening, when Freddie had been looking for a book Vickey had asked to borrow, he heard Tina and Cathy talking in the kitchen.                              “I can’t stand Josh anymore,” Tina was saying. “He just behaves like a complete zombie whenever he’s with me.” Cathy put her arm around her. “He’s got more time for his daughter in Belfast than me. How do you and Freddie manage. What should I do, threaten to leave him.”                                                                                                               “Its important to have similar interests. Its not really a case of delivering ultimatums. You have to just find something you both enjoy doing. Start doing that art class again. Its funny how people bond over crafts.”                                                                                                                At the time Freddie had disagreed. In his experience everybody in the artworld had time only for their own work, not engaging with the other artists. He remembered all too well how precious his father could get about his own projects. In early 2013, he had entreated his father many times to lend him the antler crucifix. It wouldn’t get damaged he insisted. He only wanted to use it as part of a drawing.                                                                                                            On his last attempt, he had driven to their old house in Watford, and had found the door unlocked. When he went in he had seen his father naked and asleep in his bed. There was a bottle of Johnny walker in his hand, and lying on the floor was a young woman, a pool of blood next to her head. Freddy called an ambulance, but he only had the vaguest knowledge of first aid. He decided the best he could do was try and stop the bleeding and wake his father up.                                                                                                                           “Freddy!?”

Jamie Warrickson speedily covered himself with the bedsheets.                                                          “Dad what the hell happened.” When his father saw the girl, his face seemed to melt with horror.                                                                                                            “We were just having fun. She must have passed out and hit her head.”

“Jesus.”                                                                                                           “I’ll go and see if any of the neighbours know what to do.”                                                                            He disappeared whilst Freddy knelt beside the young woman. He thought the best thing he could do at this point was try and keep her conscious. As he leaned over her, he saw it. There was a photograph lying on the floor; It showed a human body, with its head and hands removed. On the Warrickson family property, twelve bodies had been found. The trial of Jamie Warrickson began on 18^th October 2014 at Harrow Crown Court. It had taken five days to hear from every grieving relative, witness the destruction of the insanity plea, and face his fathers true character. Freddy found it easier to watch the victims relatives, rather than look at the defeated crumpled figure in the dock. After it was all over, he had tried to find a way to silence the questions and camera flashes. Eventually he settled for beer, cigarettes and solitude in some nameless park. Even there several grieving parents and creatures of the tabloids had found him. Did he know what his father had been doing for the last twelve years. Surely these dark artworks are a sure sign that something was wrong. He had retreated further into the city. Out of all his pursuers, Cathy was the only one who had kept up.                                                                                   “But there must have been some signs.” It sounded like a plea, as if he had some sort of power to bring her sister back from the dead.                                                                                                      “No I had no idea,” he told her as he lit a cigarette. “Just get lost. Please, I can’t take it anymore.” He left her standing in the street and began searching London for his father. The real one who had walked him to school, explained the value of hard work, and taught him to respect others, especially women. Was the warmth of that man gone; had it been degraded and defiled by this freak; A precious core of love made one with evil. There was only one certain way to be rid of the taint. He would have to cut his father off, cut away a part of himself, and live with a hole in his body. Would he be Freddie Warrickson anymore.                                 “I didn’t hate those women,” the freak had explained to him. “I just had to get that…..you know that feeling.”

“No dad…..I don’t know.”                                                                                                                                           

   It was impossible to think straight when your emotions were running high. Maybe that was why Tina had been such a fool.                                                                                                                “Ok, I’ll try to get Josh involved in art again.” She hugged Cathy. “I was talking to Karl about this. He and Amy had similar problems. We talked about Freddy’s dad the other day and conversation turned to Sandra. You know she’s his second wife. She told him…..”                                                                                                            “Wait, Karl Meecham.” Cathy’s voice was raised. “The journalist?” Freddy put his hand to his mouth as a horrible possibility unfolded before him. “I told you about Freddies dad in confidence?”                                                                                                 From then on, the local paper had never given them a moments peace. Through it all Freddy could still remember the face of his father.                                                                                                   “I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. Would you consider forgiving me.”                                                                                                                                                                             

   Freddy lay on the sofa making a wire sculpture. His phone buzzed and he saw he had a message from Vickey, along with a photo. It read ‘Roman sculpture which I know you will love’. Cathy came and sat beside him, laptop in hand.                                                  “I’ve spoken to Rowley and Patterson.” She sat cross legged with the laptop and sipped her coffee. “They say an action against the paper would succeed.” As Freddy pondered on what to say in response to Vickey he looked up at the antler crucifix. Mr Crafty’s Blue and Big Boy’s Plasticine Formula worked so well on top of that thin wire. Yes the skull was a little misaligned, but he still liked the look.                                                                                             “I love you Dad.”