It was one of those days. Another troubled night's sleep. Dreaming of unfinished business. This had been going on for far too long. Something had to give.
Looking at myself in the mirror that morning, with bleary bloodshot eyes blinking in the harsh February sunlight that filtered through the window like a swarm of angry space bees, I realised that there was only one course of action left open to me. I had been running away for far too long. It was time to go back.
Retford beckoned.

I laid out the tools I would need to complete the job. The job I should have finished all those years ago. My hands trembled as I placed them side by side on the table. The knife. The toothpaste. The frog. Please God I wouldn't have to use the frog. Once was enough. I can still remember the screams. Some of them were mine.

Glancing down at last night's empties, I couldn't help wondering whether that last bottle of Claret was a good idea. Could this have had something to do with my disturbed sleep patterns? I dismissed the thought angrily. I had to keep focussed. Retford. Fucking Retford. And Simon. And what had to be done. Pausing only to be sick in the sink, I gathered my things.

Placing my bag with its dread cargo over my shoulder, I stepped outside into the bright July rain. Would I see the fair shores of Cambridge again? I had a hunch that before the day was over, I would find out.
When you're young and stupid, it's easy to get caught up in events that spiral out of control like a giant cartwheel rolling down the hill of time, scattering the cushions of chance before it like flying mice. This is literally what happened to me ten years ago. Now there was no turning back. But there was something I had to do first.

Driving to a lonely carpark, I searched for the number in my phone with nervous fingers. I couldn't do this alone. I needed the help of a professional. I was phoning the Agency. I hadn't had to use their services since that unpleasantness with Aki last year. They were normally very reliable, but they were expensive, and every contract carried an inherent risk. The gruff voice that answered told me to wait where I was, and they would send someone over. Then they rang off. I hadn't even told them where I was. I hate it when they do that.

After half an hour or so, there was a knock at the door, and then without ceremony it opened. I looked over and my heart sank. They'd sent the Snake. We'd worked together before, but there was something about him that made my skin stand on end. His unblinking stare. His uncanny ability to manipulate door handles without limbs. His cold-blooded nature. It was spooky. Without a word he slid into the passenger seat and beckoned me to drive on. Without a word, I complied.

As I drove I occasionally glanced over at the Snake. He never was much for talking, but his silence unnerved me. There seemed to be a sense of menace in his eyes. Then again, snakes pretty much always look like that. I offered him a cigarette, but he declined. He must have given up. This surprised me, as I never had the Snake down as a health-conscious individual. Still, we're all growing older, and I suppose it's true to say that none of us are getting younger either. Just like Simon. Our target. Our quarry. I wondered whether he had any sense of foreboding.

As I drove through the mountainous foothills of East Anglia, I noticed a Sunshine Coach ahead, and I smiled grimly. A good omen. I belmed inwardly to myself, remembering that job a couple of years before. A hiss from the Snake suggested that he too was remembering the same thing. We licked a good few windows that night. Good times. Even Retford faded into the sickly fog of obscurity for a while.

The Snake was navigating. He was always the point man, even back then. Now he was an operator, one of the big guns. I could only hope that his experience would help me overcome my nemesis. He was lightening up a bit, finally; he was doing his slug impressions again. They always cracked me up, back in the day.

The journey took longer than I expected but was over sooner than I thought. As we gazed up at the magnificent edifice that is Retford Town Hall, I felt a sense of chilling dread as the memories washed over me, drowning me in a lake of overblown pretentious metaphors.
I was back. Now all we had to do was to find Simon. Although this would prove trickier than I had thought.

We sat and watched the crowds rushing through Retford's grand Central Boulevard. We needed a lead. And then some policemen strode casually towards us. Had they been tipped off? My blood ran cold. So did the Snake's, but that was nothing unusual.

With the Snake disguised as a harmless scarf, the policemen walked past unsuspecting. But that close shave had shaken both of us. We needed a drink to calm our nerves. We also needed information. It was time to visit Retford's underworld.

We went to the Broad Stone. The fact that only one of its windows had been kicked in suggested that it was frequented by the more discerning members of Retford's criminal fraternity. The Snake reckoned that someone here might give us the information we needed. There would be a price, but there always is. Either way, a beer seemed like a good idea at this point.

The Snake drank neat gin, as always. I had a Guinness. A couple of conversations with shady characters ensued. It quickly transpired that the people we needed to see were out of town. Cursing our bad luck, we downed our drinks and left. But we knew where to go. We had an address for a couple who knew Simon. They could tell us where he was. Against a backdrop of a darkening sky we took our leave.

Driving a short distance out of down, we approached our penultimate destination. I knew that the information we needed wouldn't come cheap. I was prepared. I had the dough ready. It was time to do business.

Our informants were shy. I had to coax them out. But eventually they came, and drunk and reeling under the influence of the rohypnol-dosed bread I gave them, they beabled their secret like a trampoline spilling its guts to the world. Inwardly, I sighed. Of course I felt guilty, but what had to be done, had to be done. The Snake just laughed, but then he always was a callous cunt. Now we had an address. There was no time to lose.

The back streets of Retford take no prisoners. Into the ghetto we went, like the valley of death rushing headlong down the gullet of misfortune. I was literally shitting bricks. Well, not literally. I'd had a really good poo the night before, so I didn't need to go. It was a chocolate brown trout that slid out with minimal discomfort, and it slipped round the u-bend like an otter down a drainpipe. I gave it 9/10, and I'm a pretty harsh judge of poo, if that gives you any idea as to the sheer quality of it.

And on rounding the corner, I was face to face with Simon at last. We looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity but probably wasn't now that I think about it. No doubt identical thoughts were going through both our minds. The betrayal. The love triangle with Diane. The tears, the emotions, and ultimately the promise of vengeance as yet undelivered. I felt cold, as if the ambient temperature had just reduced by several degrees, or as if I was standing in a fridge or something.

A cold smile crossed my face. At last, after all this time, I was face to face with the shadow of my past that had been haunting my future. I selected my weapon, and primed it. Simon just stood there, seemingly numb to the horror of it all. Maybe a sense of closure filled his eight legs. I don't know. I was too caught up in the moment, and I acted swiftly, without thinking, without mercy.

I squeezed and squeezed. Simon's harsh screams rang through the opaque September evening air. He writhed and twisted but was helpless against the onslaught of chalk-based tooth hygiene product. A gossamer thread of silk might as well try to hold back an avalanche of monster trucks. The outcome was never in doubt. I laughed.

Simon died quickly, although it took him a long time to die. The Snake was quick to rifle through his pockets after his twitching body had breathed its last gasp. This disturbed me, but I was too exhilarated to protest.

As I blew the monoflurophosphate fumes away from the nozzle of my weapon, I began to feel a strange sense of sadness sweeping over me like a broom made out of wet seaweed or leper skin. Had it really come to this? Was this what I had been looking for all this time? At the end of the day, I didn't know. I had come all this way, and for what? Revenge? Or expiation?

The Snake and I buried Simon where he fell. It seemed a fitting tribute to a worthy adversary. We didn't talk as we threw handfuls of earth down onto the toothpaste-smeared body. If either of us had been religious, we might have said a prayer. Fortunately, neither of us are that fucking stupid.

As I walked slowly back to the car, I couldn't help thinking about the course of events that the day had taken during its course. Looking at my reflection, I seemed to see a distorted image of myself looking back, although that could have been my imagination. Did I feel victorious? Vindicated? Exalted, even? I didn't know. I didn't think so. Maybe ultimately there were no real winners that day.

As I drove away, it started to rain. It seemed a fitting end to the day.

And while the tarmac slid by under the wheels in the darkening April night, and I headed back towards my home, I couldn't help wondering whether I had done the right thing. Maybe by striving for peace of mind, I had crossed a line that wasn't meant to be crossed. No-one ever said that life was full of easy choices. At least, no-one ever said that to me. Maybe they say it all the time in Kuwait or Canada or one of those crazy foreign places; I don't know. And more to the point, I don't care.

And my hands gripped the wheel tightly as I steered the car back towards familiar places. Retford now will always seem a place of fear and half-remembered terrors, but at least now I will be able to sleep at night safe in the knowledge that I will never ever have to go back to that fucking shithole ever again. And frankly, that is good enough for now. Uttoxter can wait.
And is there a moral to this story? Don't be so fucking daft.