Don't Bank On It DON'T BANK ON IT! Darren and I - we've been a couple, a matched pair, for a very long time. Since I was halfway through high school, I guess. Young love, puppy love. At least in my case. I knew from the first time I saw him, on the day I started high school, that one day I would marry him. Of course, at that point it was nothing more than wishful thinking. He was the stereotypical older guy. A fourth year, a hero to us first years. It seemed like all the girls I knew had at least a fraction of a crush on him - Darren Edwards, football and swimming champ; intelligent; kind to waifs, strays and adoring first year girls; and, above all, absolutely, breathtakingly, drop-dead-gorgeous! I don't really like admitting that his looks were the most important aspect of him but, the truth is, they were to me. At least at first. When he was so far out of my reach that I only knew through the grapevine that he was the cleverest and by far the nicest guy in school. But I knew for certain that he was incredibly handsome - dark haired, green eyed, chiselled features and the most incredible body this side of a male model. I adored him from afar for over two years, although I knew him to say "hi" to from swimming practice, so I wasn't that far away in literal terms. Well, I liked to tell myself that anyway. But nothing happened until I was in third year and he was in sixth year. It may have taken quite some time for use to actually get together but, believe me, it was worth the bloody wait. How did I get here? I wonder blindly, as I'm forced back against the wall. Shivers of fear are running through my body but I can't stop myself from risking a look at my assailant. "Don't!" he barks, forcing my head back around. "Just stay still and quiet and you'll live," he breathes in my ear. It seems strange to think just an hour ago I was enjoying a mug of black coffee and a cereal bar in our nice, warm kitchen, thinking contentedly about the leisurely day ahead of me. I suppose I actually only enjoyed it until Darren wandered in. Then everything went pear-shaped. As usual. We can't seem to spend any time in one another's company these days without fighting. I suppose it's inevitable when you've been together eight years and thought you knew everything about one another - until you start living together. Since I moved into his flat six months ago, nothing has been the same. And this has definitely not been a good thing. But anyway, back to the present. The fact that our very lives are at stake. I'm guessing that these guys really don't intend to kill any of us - after all murder is a hell of a lot more serious than a simple bank robbery and they really must just have planned to take the money and run. But, things go wrong, don't they? I've seen it in the papers so many times, bank jobs that have gone horrifyingly wrong, the possibility of it happening to me just never hit me until now. It's not like bank robbers bring unloaded guns into the banks with them - having the bullets stored in there is like their insurance. And, they may not intend to make use of this but, if they are pushed to their very limits, then they will. They'll probably viciously regret it afterwards, they'll find it impossible to live with the constant guilt but hey, the damage has been done by then. Innocent people have been injured, or even killed, just to satisfy someone else's greed. The guy's hands are still on me, which scares me even more. I don't like the fact that he's making this much contact with me, and me alone. Everyone else just got a forceful push against the wall, but he seems to have really noticed me. I keep my head down, so as not to have to look at him, after all he told me not to, didn't he? "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing. He leans down to whisper in my ear, his breath tracing my cheek. God, his breath is disgusting. I try not to choke as toxic fumes waft up my nose. "You're pretty cute, you know that? Play your card's right and I might just ask my - co-workers if I can bring you along with us." He finally lets me go and starts to walk away, but he's only gone several steps when he turns around and shoots me an exaggerated wink. "First stop- Las Vegas!" When I'm having a bad dream, I can't stand to wake up before the conclusion. If I'm about to get murdered in my dream, for instance, and I wake up just as I'm being taken to get shot, I start to panic. If one of my classmates has transformed himself into a descendant of The Incredible Hulk and is running after me, planning to eat me, and I wake up during the chase, I panic. My feverish mind frantically tries to work put what would have happened, had I not woken up. But it's impossible to know. However, the chances are, at least in my nightmares, that good wins out over evil in the end. Just before I'm about to be shot, Darren will run up with a gun and shoot the guy who was going to shoot me. Just before The Incredible Hulky Person catches me, he trips up and falls flat on his face, where a crowd of scientists throw a net over him and take him away in a van to somewhere he can never hurt me again. This is yet another nightmare I don't know the ending to. I'm hoping desperately that it is a dream of some sort, that I'm not really in this bank, I'm really safe in my bed, lying next to Darren. I try to wake up, but I can't. You can't wake up from reality. But hell, I wish I could. I can't even remember how the argument started now. It was really stupid anyway, but the petty arguments nearly always turn out to be the most serious ones. At least, that's what I've found out in my relatively short life. Darnel's pretty jealous. Sometimes I think that's quite sweet, because he's not naturally like that, just when it comes to me, and it's sort of flattering that he cares that much about me. But at other times I find this possessiveness stifling. It means I can rarely talk to my male friends without making his eyes even greener than they were to start with. This jealousy has been the focus of a lot of our fights over the last couple of months, as well as the standard living together ones, which include bickering arguments like "You took up most of the bed last night, I spent the whole night trying not to fall out." Very mature, I have to say. He even tried to make me jealous, so I could see how he felt, sitting a little bit too close to one of my friends one night, laughing a little too intimately with her. I knew what he was playing at, so I just acted like he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. Of course, later on, in private, I told him exactly what I thought of his pathetic attempt to rile me which, naturally, caused yet another argument. Living together just ain't what it's cracked up to be, I'm afraid. Consider that a warning if you and your loved one are on the verge of this momentous step. You'll discover that your boyfriend is not half the guy you thought he was. In fact, you may even discover that he is the most annoying person you have ever met. As irritating as an itchy, suffocating, rash. It was the early nineties. I remember that much because we were at a school disco for all the kids that participated in sports and the music playing at the exact moment Darren and I stood facing one another in the darkest corner of the room ("the snogger's corner", it was dubbed, which gives you a pretty good idea of what we were about to do) was "Rhythm is a Dancer" by Snap. The lead up to this momentous moment had been the typical childish approach, initiated by my best friend Catherine. Knowing the enormity of the crush I had on Darren, she'd calmly sauntered up to him, blown her cigarette smoke (we all thought it was cool to smoke when we were that age) in his face and said to him "See how Karen?" in her usual bad grammar. "Karen Mitchell? What about her?" "She really, really fancies you. I mean, really. Will you get off with her?" The mortification of it all. I swear, I wanted to kill myself - how could she have done this to me? Despite the fact we were best friends, there was a slightly unhealthy amount of friendly rivalry between us. Catherine admitted to me, just before me and Darren moved in together, that she hadn't really expected Darren to agree to snog me. After all, she had fancied him too, and was really just looking for an excuse to talk to him. Any excuse. Not that she held it against me - she is currently working on a cruise ship and engaged to the entertainment's manager and having the time of her life. But pack to the past. "Okay." Catherine blinked in disbelief. I didn't hear Darren's word but I saw him nod his head. Oh my god, I thought to myself, my knees almost buckling from the shock of it all, he must think she means some other Karen Mitchell. Why would he want to snog me? But my fears and doubts were unfounded. Here came Catherine, crossing the dancefloor, her china doll face fixed in a decidedly forced smile. And then she was grabbing my arm, pulling me across the dancefloor to where Darren stood, his beautiful face composed. "You two know each other already, so I don't think I need to bother with the introductions," she said, with a tinkling laugh, one last ditch attempt to have Darren for herself. "So I'll just leave you to it, shall I?" "Thanks Katrina," Darren murmured, gazing into my eyes with the sort of strange intensity I'd never expected to see. "It's Catherine," she snapped, stalking away. Clearly she was no longer too enamoured with the gorgeous Darren. Not that I cared, I was too busy staring back at him. "So - um - you want to . . .?" I began, to shy to continue my sentence. He took my hand in his. "You think I'm stupid enough to pass up this opportunity?" he asked me. "Do you always answer a question with another question?" I can't help asking as he leads me towards the darkened corner. "What do you think?" he asked, turning to face me, tilting my face up to his. As I closed my eyes in anticipation, his lips brushed mine, first lightly, and then with the kind of forceful passion that I had only ever read about in my mum's hidden collection of bodice rippers. He was only the fourth guy I'd kissed (hey, I'd barely turned fourteen, give me a break!) but I knew instantly that this guy was the only guy I'd never get tired of kissing. He was my perfect match, my other half. People spend forever looking for their soulmate (well, some truly romantic people do), but I didn't need to search any further - mine was right here. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. He told me he'd been trying to work up the nerve to ask me out for several months, but didn't think I'd be interested. And then he did really ask me out. And, naturally, I said yes. What, do you think I'm mad enough to say no? What I couldn't believe, though, was that he wanted to be with me. It didn't matter to him that I was so much younger. After all, he pointed out, in ten years it wouldn't make a difference. It was only now, because we were in school, that people might tease us about the age gap. He said he didn't care, what mattered was that I was so funny, and all-round nice, and so pretty. All that mattered was that we had found each other. The guy who was so attentive to me is still only standing several feet away. It makes me feel totally sick to think how he touched me before, like he owned me or something. As if he's my boyfriend, and not Darren. Another guy parades up and down the other side of the bank, guarding the other customers. He, like the first guy, is also brandishing a gun, wearing a black balaclava, black leather jacket and trousers and he even has the same panther-like, menacing walk. Then there's the other member of their team, clearly a woman, who has pushed through the doors that lead to the bank tellers and is currently gathering in all the money from them, pushing it into a Puma sports holdall and waving her gun in their faces whenever they're a little too slow in handing her each bundle of notes. This hold-up has only being going on two minutes but it seems like a lifetime. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to imagine a happy ending to this whole situation, but all I can see is utter blackness. Oblivion. Terror stricken, I blink in the fluorescent light and find myself meeting the eyes of a woman on the other side of the room. She is early twenties, like me, but her concern isn't primarily for herself. It is for the toddler she is cradling between her legs, trying to use them as a clamp to stop the kid wriggling, or running, for fear he might get shot. One of her hands covers his mouth, the other is clinging to the handrail against the wall for support. The fear in her eyes is incredibly clear, her face is white and pinched. Do I look like that? I wonder. I try to somehow send her my support with my eyes, and I think she gets the message. That I know exactly how she is feeling. I guess we're all thinking the same thing - are we going to get out of here alive? The thought of death terrifies me. It haunts me at night when I'm lying in bed, unable to sleep. Sometimes it my own mortality will just hit me in the middle of the day, as a car speeds past mere inches from my body as I cross a road. How easily life can end. And then what? Is there a heaven and hell? Or is there just nothing, total blackness? This is the first time in my life that my life has truly felt threatened. That I have seriously considered the fact that I could be dead in a matter of minutes, depending what fate has in store for me. Is this some kind of test? As the fear seeps into my bloodstream and begins to pump around my body, I feel a slight pressure on my hand and I jump out of my skin. It's Darren. God, I'd forgotten he was here with me. Glancing sidelong at him, I see he looks just as pale and frightened as I feel. He's always acted so strong, I feel almost glad that I've discovered he's not totally invincible. In a way, it comforts me. When Darren and I got engaged, and started living together, Darren opened a bank account. This was so we could save up any engagement money we received, separate from any other money either of us had. We'd talked about it for ages beforehand, and agreed it would be less complicated if the account was just in his name, or mine. And, since he is without doubt the most responsible of the two of us, that honour went to him. We don't really have that much in the account, most people gave us champagne and china and presents like that, as opposed to money. The money is mainly from our parents. When we decided in the heat of our argument this morning, to break off the engagement, I yelled at Darren that we would have to return the engagement money, that it was totally dishonest to keep it. "Fine," he'd snapped back. "I have the morning off, let's go right now and shut the bloody account." He was practically on his way out the door before he'd even finished his sentence. "Great!" I screamed, grabbing my bag and following him out, childishly determined to beat him to the bank. And you pretty much know the rest of the story, what happened next. We had been standing in the bank for only a couple of minutes, waiting for someone to see to our needs, not talking to one another and avoiding eye contact, when the three balaclava'd intruders burst in through the doors in a sudden explosion of noise. Which really messed up our plans. "You finished yet?" one of the men calls to the woman. "Just one minute," she replies, throwing in one last pile of money and swinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door. "C'mon guys." "Just a sec." The creepy man executes a perfect pirouette, which winds up with him facing me. My heart sinks as his eyes lock onto mine once more. This is the moment I've been dreading, that I knew might happen. He moves closer to me, puts a possessive hand on my arm. "Can't I take her? She's so sweet and innocent looking." He then sees my left hand and makes a face. "And engaged," he adds ruefully. "not that that's ever stopped me." He turns back around to his friends, but they've already left, sick of waiting for him. He;s been too preoccupied with me to even notice and I know, pretty much for certain, that he's going to blame me for this. And I'm right. He glares at me, as if it's my fault and runs towards the door, just as a wailing police car pulls up in front of the bank. Everything seems to happen in slow motion from that moment on. Frantically, he looks about him, searching for a way to escape, or somewhere to hide. Nothing, nowhere. Two armed policemen burst into the bank, yelling "Freeze." He turns back towards me again and yells "This is all your fault!" and, as I watch in cold horror, he points the gun at me and squeezes the trigger. I try to scream, but no sound emerges. I try to move, but my feet appear to be stuck to the ground. And then I hear Darren's voice. He's shouting "No!" at the top of his lungs, as he jumps on me, knocking me to the side, and away from the bullet. Then, lying on top of me, he's deathly still. "Darren," I gasp, although the wind has been knocked out of me when I hit the hard floor. "Darren, are you okay? Please speak to me. Darren!" Oh God, the bullet must have hit him instead. He's dead, he must be. I feel tears of sorrow welling up in my eyes. He's such a hero, he loved me enough to put his life on the line. He . . . "Karen. It's okay, I'm here." Through my tears I see him lift himself up off me, so that I can get to my feet as well. He's perfectly fine. The wall hasn't been so lucky - there's a bullet hole right where my head was when the guy fired at me. "Are you two okay?" one of the policemen asks, approaching us. The other one has captured the remaining bank robber and handcuffed him. Darren smiles at me, and I notice the tears in his eyes. "We're fine," he says, stroking my engagement ring. "Absolutely fine." "I know this will sound kind of sick, but we've actually got a lot to thank those criminals for," I add. The policeman looks at me as if I am insane, shakes his head, and walks back to his colleague. "We have, haven't we?" Darren whispers, catching on to my meaning. He takes me in his arms and hold s me tightly, as if he never wants to let me go. I hope he never will. I hear the policeman's walkie-talkie burst into life, and gather that they've picked up the other two criminals. They're still outside the bank apparently, their getaway car broke down. One of the customer advisers has a brief talk with the policemen and then announces that the bank will be closed for the rest of today. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience," she finishes off by saying. "We will be open for business tomorrow, if you want to come back then." I turn to look at Darren, who is still holding onto me like he's too scared to let me out of his sight. "What about it?" I ask, biting my lip nervously. Maybe he still feels like he did earlier. ""Are we coming back here tomorrow?" Darren gazes into my eyes as if he's looking for the answer that I want and he obviously likes what he sees in there. "No," he whispers. "I don't think we are." "Good," I reply, my relief obvious in the way I let my breath out in one long "whooshing sound. "Now kiss me!" So he does. And, in the instant his lips touch mine, I forget about everything that has happened in the tiny space of the last ten minutes. Because, it may have been the most terrifying experience of my life, it may be something I have nightmares about until my dying day, but at least one good thing came out of it and, to me, it is the most important thing. Darren and I realised that we still love each other. And, as far as I'm concerned, the only thing that matters in this life is love. That's my opinion anyway, and I don't really care if no one else agrees!
Copyright © 2000 Paula M Shackleford |