I read somewhere that one in one hundred people are certified psychopaths. According to the experts, every suburb/office block/church group has one. Our resident psychopath is Sarah Burleigh, one very scary mother. And I mean that quite literally. Sarah also happens to be the mother of Henrietta, the little hussy who dared to steal my son’s first kiss. You can see now why I was so aghast at Bob swapping saliva with that child. I don’t just hate that he betrayed my trust, I hate that he did so with the offspring of a madwoman.
What if Psycho Sarah took issue with my son shoving his tongue down her daughter’s throat? Would she begin one of her notorious vendettas against us? I’ve seen her vendettas in action. The sheer power of her hatred is inspiring, can force entire families out of the neighbourhood, which has happened. Twice.
The last one was a lovely hippy couple who had a penchant for smoking pot in their backyard. Sure, you could smell it a mile off, but you couldn’t see them and no one really cared. Except for Sarah. She marched over there one day, mentioned “decent neighbourhood” and “local police,” and before you know it, the hippies had packed up their Kombi and pissed off.
She’s been known to steer her muddy 4WD towards people she doesn’t like, toppling one poor guy off his bicycle, causing another to dive into the nearest bush.
I’ve even witnessed her trip up an old bloke. I kid you not. He’d just left the local greyhound track and was strutting down the street looking pretty proud of himself when she put out one leg and made him tumble. She never even looked back.
Why does she do all this? Who knows? It’s like she’s got a penchant for power, a desire to instil panic wherever she goes. And she certainly does that.
Not only is she menacing, she’s the size of a house. No, make that a McMansion, one with Greek columns for arms and brick chimneys for legs. I’ve seen grown men cross the street to avoid impact with Sarah, and if Mike Tyson lived here, I’d give him two rounds, tops.
Yet it was her tenacious animosity that really knocked you for six. If Sarah gets the shits with you, you’re screwed. Sorry, but that’s the brutal truth. She was like a dog with a bone, and by dog I mean woolly mammoth. I was as in awe of it as much as I was petrified.
But you want to know what petrified me even more? What if Psycho Sarah likes Bob? What if she approves of her daughter’s new boyfriend and they end up married one day and I’m suddenly related to the crazy cow? Then it’s not as simple as moving suburbs. I’m stuck for life.
I shuddered at the thought then, and I shudder at it now, or I would if I had control of my limbs (which, in case you’re wondering, are now being pored over by some woman in a green plastic onesie with the words “Forensic Services” on the back).
Which reminds me, my murder: What’s it got to do with Henrietta and her nutjob mum? Well, they’re part of the crowd that has begun to loiter on the street outside my house. Have they just arrived? Heard the goss and thought they’d check it out? Or were they in the vicinity, like Junnifer, and have just hung around?
And, more importantly, did Psycho Sarah want me dead? Did she really think that would somehow save her hussy daughter from herself?
Doesn’t really add up, does it? She might be aggro, but I’m not sure Sarah has a good enough motive. All she had to do was say “Boo,” and Bob and I would have packed our bags and caught the first bus out.
Still, she does have a strange satisfied look about her. Maybe she just revels in other people’s tragedy. At least Henrietta has the good grace to look shocked and horrified. She’s chewing mercilessly at her thumbnail, her feathery eyebrows knitted together, but she’s not looking at my house, she’s staring in the other direction, towards Junnifer and my son who is still hunched over in one of NagHag’s crisply painted wicker chairs.
I wonder what Henrietta’s thinking. I wish I knew. As I said before, I can’t read people’s thoughts, or if I can, I haven’t yet worked out how.
Perhaps she’s wondering, as I am, why Bob’s dad still has not materialised.