Little Annie Garbitt

Little Annie Garbitt, walking down the street. Sounds like the start of a nursery rhyme, doesn’t it, only I don’t know any nursery rhymes that end with a brutal double homicide? Besides, I didn’t even know her name then, when I first saw her, trotting along the pavement, red ice lolly in one hand, the other lost in the grip of her mother.

Her hair was like a barley field, frizzy and gold, left to dry after a wash without having the brush put through it first. She took two steps for every one taken by her mother, being forced to walk at the adult pace whether she wanted to or not.

I guess you could say this opportunity to do what I did had entered my mind a few times previously when in similar situations, but I’d pushed it away for crossing the line. Perhaps a line it would then be impossible to come back from. This time, however, something was different. I felt compelled to act; to ignore the righteousness of my conscience; to do what any decent human being would shrug off with a shiver, if their mind ever momentarily drifted into such dark realms. Perhaps because I had a free afternoon.

I’d just been to a bookstore on the main drag and was heading back to the car via one of the side streets when the smell hit me. No, saying it hit me doesn’t do it justice. This smell embraced me, like a rag pulled over my head, clogging my nostrils and making me gag; storming up to my brain and down my throat; spreading around the insides of my skull and contaminating the lining of my lungs.

I knew the smell straight away, not exactly rare in urban surroundings where the air is a mish-mash of vehicle fumes, food, and waste, but I hadn’t smelt it that strong in a while. I had a good idea of what I expected to see when I opened my stinging eyes. Perhaps a group of five or six jostling about within their toxic cloud.

But no. In fact, the source of the smell escaped me for a moment as my eyes were drawn to the eye-catching speck of a pink t-shirt in the encompassing dull grey of buildings, road, and bystanders. Annie’s bubblegum t-shirt, beneath that matted golden hair on the cusp of getting out of control. She was a few yards ahead of me, being walked in the same direction I was heading, by a woman I presumed was her mother, who tugged the little girl along after every few steps, perhaps when she thought Annie was dragging a little too much for her liking. I continued walking.

The woman - clad in black with a matching tank top and exercise pants combo, flashy white trainers, and hair wrapped in a tight top bun - was shouting things at a man walking in an almost exaggerated swagger a few paces in front of them. His shiny silver anorak was blowing out at either side of him like a sail, likewise his faux-parachute sweatpants, and each time he’d turn and retort something back to her, not in particularly pleasant language.

There were plenty of expletives being hurled between the pair, which I’ve purposefully starred out from this account because they’re just not nice, especially around young children.

It was during one of the guy’s look-backs I saw he was holding some kind of pale brown paper tube, too small to be a biro but about the same thickness. The obvious source of the smell, and an unquestionable seasoned user for it to be that pungent in the outside air. The smell Annie had no doubt grown up with, desensitised to in what must’ve been her three or four years in this tainted world.

That was probably the moment I decided not to veer off in the direction I’d parked my car, but to remaining tailgating this family who’d piqued my interest.

I kept a distance, following them through a small car park, over a pedestrian crossing, and to a bus stop, where Annie and her mother sat down in the shelter while the man - I presumed her father - remained standing. I blended myself into the rest of the waiting crowd just outside the shelter, but forward enough to keep an eye on them.

It was from this angle I saw Annie’s t-shirt had a printed illustration of a parrot on the front. It was one of the Scarlet Macaw parrots I remembered seeing on various zoo trips. I was sure they just do things to get a reaction and make you laugh, and that in itself made me smile.

As the bus was pulling up, Annie stood up to dispose of her lolly stick in a nearby bin, which brought another faint smile to my face, although her mother didn’t acknowledge the good behaviour, causing the smile to quickly fade.

“Annie, give me your hand.” That was the first time I heard her name.

They made sure they were some of the first passengers on. I allowed a gap of four people between us then also boarded and stood in the empty space for wheelchair users and pushchairs, of which there were neither.

Annie sat across from me, beside her mother, a couple of rows back, swinging her legs under her chair then back out in front, too small for her feet to even reach the back of the unoccupied chair in front. Her mother was leaning over the back of her own seat, talking to the father who sat by himself. She had a loud voice and I could hear occasional words, but his responses were more of a gruff murmur, lost in the revving, coughing and screeching of the bus. Neither one of them acknowledged Annie for the whole trip, and certainly didn’t notice me watching them, or watching her.

When I saw them stand to get off, I waited until they’d passed me, receiving another strong whiff of that musky smell, then hopped off after them. I hung back, walking behind them at an unobtrusive distance, Annie’s hand once again glued in that of her mother, who only had eyes for her phone this time, while her father strolled ahead. He’d lighted up again almost immediately after disembarking the bus and I could see plumes of smoke rising like a geyser from in front of his face every thirty seconds or so, drifting back in my direction.

Eventually they turned into a corner house, a complete bronzed pebbledash semi which may have seemed - or once been - quite a neat little family property were it not for the scattered array of discarded paraphernalia visible over a low moss-infested brick wall that formed the outer boundary of a garden that wrapped around the side, adjacent to the pavement.

Toys, balls, empty flower pots, cheap gardening equipment; everywhere; never packed away or even tidied; all carelessly left where they’d last been used. I could tell it was a dump before I’d even gotten close, perhaps knowing from the moment I laid eyes on the family, and the closer I got the more mess came into focus. The only exceptions were a small slide and plastic, wedge-shaped seesaw that both actually looked to be in good condition - must’ve either been new, or barely used.

Annie and her parents had all gone into the house, leaving the front door wide open. There was no one in sight. I stepped onto the slabbed garden path, more like stepping stones through a turbulent, unattended lawn, sprouting almost as many weeds as long blades of grass. On my left, space had been made for a pink kiddie’s inflatable paddling pool with spirally yellow patterns beside a rusting, torn trampoline. There was what looked like a naked Barbie doll floating face down on the water surface, perhaps one of Annie’s toys. Nearer the front door, encroaching on the path, was a haggard barbecue set, standing lopsided over a flakey propane tank - a toy for the man of the house no doubt. And in the doorway was a fold-up camping chair, partway over the threshold. There were burns in the orange lining, like diseased blotches on the skin from too much unprotected exposure to direct sunlight.

I walked into the house. The musky smell was stronger than ever, to be expected in more of an enclosed space, but after so long out in the fresh air it still momentarily stunned me into a light-headed daze and I had to grab the end of the stair bannister to stop myself stumbling.

It was perhaps that brief lapse that kept me walking forwards, along a carpeted hallway - more an extension of the garden obstacle course with creased laundry, shopping bags and yet more toys scattered about - and into the kitchen at the back of the house where Annie’s mother stood at the sink with her back to me, looking out the only window.

She turned as my feet moved from the receding edge of the fading crimson carpet onto the kitchen vinyl, patterned like a chessboard; a worn, cheap chessboard, and instinctively jolted around fully and moved further away when she saw me.

I spoke before she had a chance to. “Sorry for walking in. The door was open. I’m here for Annie.”

No response. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. She was gripping the curved edge of the countertop as best she could without snapping the acrylic of her neon pink nails.

“Annie,” I repeated, more firmly. “I presume she is your daughter?”

“BEN!” She screamed all of sudden, causing me to jump. “BEN, GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

She dare not move, as though from the waist down she was fused to the corner units. One arm was shaking. I could’ve told her I meant them no harm, but if Ben was as high as a kite or in the stage of a confrontational comedown I couldn’t say for certain how the situation would play out.

Before Ben showed any sign of responding to the distress call, two kids walked in from an adjacent room I hadn’t noticed. A shirtless, sandy-haired boy of about six with grubby hands, and Annie, smaller than her compatriot, in her same pink Macaw t-shirt, now also slightly grubby perhaps from antics in the backyard.

“Hello,” I said, eyes only on the little girl. “Are you Annie?”

She stared at me blankly, one hand squeezing the other in front of her tiny stomach. I took a step towards her.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” The woman screamed again.

I ignored her. “Annie, you need to come with me now. It’s OK, you’ll be OK.” I approached carefully so as not to scare her, lowered myself to her level, then hoisted her up into my arms, one hand behind the top of her legs, with her torso resting against my shoulder. She was probably about the weight I’d been expecting, no heavier than a bulky carry-on suitcase.

I turned around to head back out, but Annie’s mother had darted across the kitchen, now between where I stood with Annie and the bombsite hallway.

“******* PUT HER DOWN NOW OR I’M CALLING THE POLICE YOU ******* CRAZY ****!” As I said, certain words are starred out.

“Excuse me, please.”

“GIVE ME MY ******* DAUGHTER!”

Just as I was considering barging her aside with the Annie-less side of my body, there were hurried footsteps down the stairs. Here’s Daddy, I thought, in my best internal Jack Nicholson voice.

He appeared behind Annie’s mother, dressed the same as he had been on the family trip out, minus the shiny jacket, looking like he was wasting away in a baggy basketball jersey and the even baggier pants. His hair had been pushed back and I could see red rings around both eyes.

“What the **** are you doing? Put her down and get the **** outta my house.” It was nice to not have someone shouting for a change, and I may have followed the request if it wasn’t directly contradicting my plan.

“Sorry,” I said. “She needs to come with me. It’s not… safe here.”

It was at that moment, looking between Annie’s parents, I caught a glimpse of some magnets on the tall, monochrome fridge, just inside the doorway, partially blocked by her mother. Another Scarlet Macaw stood out and I had a brief moment of inner contentment imagining Annie in some zoo gift shop begging her mother to buy the magnet of her favourite animal, then joyous when she got her own way.

The feeling was of course short-lived.

“**** YOU!” Annie’s mother lunged for me, or perhaps to retrieve her daughter, but I easily turned in time to shield the little girl and elbowed her away. She collapsed to the ground in a wailing wreck.

Ben stepped forward and the smell - his smell - was heightened once again. “You’re ******* dead now, mate.” But I was holding his kid so he couldn’t shove me to the ground.

He went to grab her and I stepped back, suddenly no longer liking the chances of how this was all going to turn out. I sensed the boy was still behind me too, God knows what he was making of all this, but I couldn’t divert my attention from Ben, approaching us again.

In one fast movement I thrust my head forward into his face, hearing a distasteful thud as my forehead cannoned into his nose. My brow stung as though my skull had permanently indented, and Annie screamed and wriggled restlessly, like she was trying to escape my arms for the first time, but the coast was clear and my vision was coming back into focus. Ben was down on the floor, unmoving. It looked as though the back of his head had collided with the lower handle of the fridge on his way down.

A wailing started up again, reverberating around the kitchen and bouncing off the walls. The sort that churns throats and destroys eardrums. It made me want to constrict my arms into my body and squeeze my head between my fists, but with Annie in my arms I couldn’t, so I resisted the urge.

Nonsensical shrieks alongside more expletives could be heard in the growing distance behind us as we headed for the front door.

I was just about to step outside by the orange camp chair when I heard someone charging after us and Annie screamed again. I turned just in time to avoid her mother piercing my lower back with a large bread knife, instead turning the blade back on her, wrestling it up into the air and puncturing her bare skin just above her collarbone on the left side.

The amount of blood was deceiving as it instantly soaked into her black top, and she dropped to her knees as I dropped the knife, both her hands clasping at the open and unfixable wound. Her eyes were puffy, her hair now a straggly bun, and tears were streaming down her face as she bled out, gasping for breath, right there in her own hallway in seconds.

I didn’t think Annie had seen the final outcome of the scuffle given her position looking over my shoulder, but then again what did you actually remember in vivid detail at nursery age?

Movement back down the hall then caught my eye. Ben, staggering out of the kitchen. Jeez, did this family have a death wish or what?

I put Annie down at the bottom of the stairs (no stair gate, no surprise), using my body to block what I could of her mother’s corpse. “Annie, please go up to your room. I need to talk to your daddy.” She didn’t look happy, but didn’t hesitate, and didn’t look back either. Good.

As Ben walked down the hall his eyes started on me but quickly jumped to and remained on his partner, lying static beside my feet in a pool of blood that had darkened the exposed parts of the carpet.

Momentarily oblivious to me, he crouched down to her as he approached, a withered version of thug who had confronted me a few minutes before in his kitchen, void of any substantial threat, a trembling kid-like single parent.

“Rach?” I just about heard him say. He placed a hand on her head and allowed his eyes to scan along her body. He must’ve noticed the bloody knife because I saw his hand creep towards it, but I shot my foot out onto his wrist, holding firm.

He looked up at me, bleary eyed yet manic. There was a blood beard surrounding his mouth, encroaching onto his cheeks. His nose was slightly askew, still dripping like a leaky faucet.

“Daddy?” Came a whimper from the top of the stairs. We both looked up to see Annie standing there, peering around the end of the bannister.

“GET THE **** BACK IN YOUR ROOM!” Ben yelled. I jumped, Annie scarpered off, and Ben had the knife.

I hated him more than ever in that moment, and for the first time that day, the first time in a long while, I was consumed by rage, so much so that what followed up to calling Annie back downstairs is slightly hazy. The exact details were later recalled to me from the statement of an elderly couple who had been passing the house at the time. I was sorry they had to see it, but that was all I was sorry for.

I jolted my knee forward, straight into the centre of Ben’s face. He bounced backwards from the impact, a heap of the family’s coats preventing his head banging on the solid wall. I reached down, grabbed a handful of his thick hair, and dragged him outside, across the garden, towards the paddling pool. I dropped to my knees and forced his head over the side, under the water. His arms pathetically flailed about, weakening, then eventually stopping altogether, all resistance and persistence gone.

Back at the foot of the stairs, I called up. “Annie, please can you come down now.” Then added, “bring a favourite toy, and a book.” I realised then that she wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing her mother’s body so I hastily covered it as best I could with the dumped coats.

Annie reappeared and clambered down the stairs holding a pale blue, floppy-eared soft toy rabbit in one hand, and a pink square book in the other that I soon saw was Peppa Pig. I picked her up again before she reached the bottom and walked out the front door and down the garden path.

The elderly couple who’d witnessed my murderous red mist were standing on the pavement, staring uneasily as I walked past. A wise choice. Splashes from the pool had washed a good amount of fresh blood from my face and forearms, but my grey shirt was badly marked, perhaps forever.

I wasn’t far along the road with Annie when a police car pulled up alongside me and I was forced to hand Annie over, but it didn’t matter by then. I made sure she had her rabbit and book, then allowed the officers to take us our separate ways; our separate lives at this new point of inception.

**

“Officer,” I said as he was leaving the room, causing him to stop. “One question, if I may, if I have your word this is off the record and not recorded?”

He frowned, then nodded.

“Is Annie going into foster care?”

He continued staring at me, then closed the door. “You suddenly decide to start talking, and you expect me to tell you that?” Of course the previous hour of silent treatment hadn’t gone down well.

“Please, that’s all I need to know, that she’ll be safe and has the best possible chance of a good future.”

He was shaking his head. “After what you did?”

“Yes.”

“You are insane, truly.”

I had to stop myself from laughing. “Really? So it’s insane that Annie goes to live with a loving family who’ll support her through her education and keep her from becoming a clone of her biological parents, yet perfectly fine to allow her to continue living in that cesspit of a home, that childhood prison, exposed on a daily basis to swearing, drugs, and God knows what else?”

I saw his tongue moving around the inside of his bottom lip. “That’s… not your call to make. If you have concerns, you… you contact us, or Social Services.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “Then what? She’s maybe taken away, if things are pretty extreme, only for her parents to be lurking around all her life.”

“So your solution was to kill them?”

“Actually, no, not originally. Annie’s mother was kind of self-defence, and Ben, well, let’s say manslaughter, eh? I just lost it when he shouted at her. He had it coming.”

The officer was shaking his head again. “Whatever your intentions, or however you try to spin it to make yourself feel better about what you did, you killed two people today, you destroyed a family, and left two children as orphans. It is inexcusable to say the least.”

I shrugged. “Just doing you a favour. If they’d let me walk out with her this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Who in their right mind allows a complete stranger to walk into their home and then walk out with their young child? What the hell did you expect?”

To probably die trying to do the right thing, I thought, but stayed silent.

“What were you even going to do with Annie?” It sounded like he expected a really sinister answer.

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. You’re talking like this was some months-in-the-making plan.” I shrugged again. “Probably take her for a bite to eat, feed some ducks in a park… I don’t know, whatever kids that age like doing, then hand her over.”

“To who?”

“You guys, of course. What did you think I was going to do, keep her? Bring her up as my own?” I broke off into a laugh. “Do you think I’m a suitable father figure?”

He just continued to stare at me.

“What’s she been told anyway,” I said, “about what happened?”

“Why do… I honestly don’t know. Why do you care?”

“Well, I was thinking, perhaps a little creativity gets it embedded in her mind that Ben and Rachel had actually stolen her as a baby, and she’s now been rescued and returned to her real loving family. I’m sure you have some shrink colleagues skilled enough to phrase that in kid-terms. I imagine if she’s told the truth she’s only going to reflect on it as some trauma in the coming years, and I wouldn’t want that holding her back from achieving her potential.”

He reached out and grabbed the door handle, sniffing profusely. “You are unbelievable, ****** up in the head and as delusional as they come. The quicker you’re put away for good the better.”

He left.

Wow, that didn’t go well. It was worth a go anyway to see if there was any chance of him coming around to that way of thinking. Oh well, time to re-evaluate.

Time to await my day in court. Time to plead self-defence. Time to plead guilty to the manslaughter of Ben. Time to make up some old drug dispute that I went round to confront him about. Time to deny my preaching to the officer and accuse them of a witch hunt conspiracy.

Time to do the time. Time to put up and shut up. Time to behave well, get out on parole, then perhaps see if little Annie Garbitt - not so little anymore - is doing OK in the life I allowed for her.