by Nem Rowan
I shrugged off my coat, hanging it at the end of the banister where it could drip dry. Biting the envelope gently between my teeth, I climbed the stairs with my shopping bags, and before I began putting the food in the freezer, I paused to lean against the kitchen counter while I opened this mystery piece of mail.
It was a card—that I could tell from the rigidity of the paper sheath that covered it. The front of it depicted a pretty photograph of a fox standing on a hillside surrounded by wild flowers, and from the image alone, I could smell the country air and the fragrance of the bluebells. I wasn’t sure why anyone would send me a card when it wasn’t my birthday any time soon. The writing inside was jerky but carefully written in straight lines.
Dearest Tenny,
I’ve admired you from afar for some time, but never had the courage to speak to you. I found you on the Internet, and ever since, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about you. You don’t know me and I don’t know if you ever will. If you were willing to take pity on me, I would serve you loyally forever. I hope that one day you will notice me.
Lots of love,
An admirer
A sticky note was stuck on the other side.
I’d tried to post this to you a while ago, but I’d lost my nerve.
David x
I grinned. It was so sweet of him to send me a card, even if it was later than intended. I was surprised he had managed to find the nerve to send it and admit that it was from him. Maybe he had finally realised that I wasn’t going to laugh at him for attempting to be romantic with me.
In the living room, I grabbed my laptop and ordered a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to the address he’d written on the back of the envelope. I bet he’d never been sent flowers before.
After, I went up to my bedroom and lay on the bed, listening to the radio as I sipped a mug of cocoa and reread the card he’d sent me. I wished he was laying there beside me. I wished I could caress and cuddle him.
For a while, I dozed with my arm covering my eyes from the lamplight, my mind hazy with fantasies; David was going to be mine, my lover, my playmate. I thought about what I planned to do when he next visited. Imagined his face, eyes glittery with tears and cheeks glowing red after fifty strikes across his back with a cane. What sort of things did he enjoy? Did he like pain? I had long since given up trying to understand how I could simultaneously want to coddle and punish my lover. Vanessa described the sexuality we shared as “carrot and stick” and I guess she was right.
I didn’t even realise how much I was smiling until my jaw began to ache. It had been a long time since I had felt this way about anyone. It felt like love, but I wasn’t totally sure just yet. Perhaps that’s what it would become.
I took out my phone, tapping into the messenger app. I hadn’t said thank you to David, but I knew it was important I did when he was so shy. I wanted him to know that I valued the effort. I smiled as I typed.
Hi <3 I got your card. Thanks sweetie <3 You’re so cute, I just want to squeeze you in my arms. Don’t lose your nerve with me. xxx
Suddenly, I heard a rapid knocking coming from downstairs. I lifted my head off my pillow so I could listen intently. It sounded like someone was banging on the front door. Yawning, I glanced at the clock; it was just gone eleven. I slipped from the bed and shuffled downstairs, where, once I had reached the landing, the knocking stopped. I turned on the hall light and listened.
Silence.
Cautiously, I put the chain on the door and unlocked it. The heavy rain beyond hissed through the narrow gap, and I pressed my cheek to the door frame so I could see outside, but there was no one there. The front steps were empty and there was nowhere in my small front garden anyone could hide.
“David?” I called, wondering if it might be him. Maybe he was embarrassed that he had come around unannounced?
The only thing that answered me was the continual drum of the raindrops on the roofs of the parked cars. Beginning to feel afraid, I closed the door and bolted it, ensuring it was secure. I then checked all of the windows, making sure no one could get in. Only then did I scuttle upstairs once more, all the time feeling as though I was being watched.
It took me a while to fall asleep. I kept expecting the knocking to rouse me every time I began to drift off. The weather continued to shower, blocking out the moonlight and dulling the already meek glow from the streetlights. No cars moved down the street. I convinced myself that perhaps whoever had knocked might have been drunk and gone to the wrong house. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Yeah, that’s all it was. A confused drunk person. They’d left when they realised they were standing outside the wrong door.
I closed my eyes and sighed, and slowly, sleep began to creep over me. My phone was in reach if I needed anyone. The house was secure. Everything was fine. As the minutes ticked by, I began to relax and I snuggled under my duvet, allowing my mind room to wander back to my prior thoughts of David. I wondered if he was thinking of me…
Creak…creak…
My eyes sprung open. What was that sound? Was I hearing things? I remained still and waited.
Creak. Creak. Clunk. Rattle.
I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t hearing things. Those sounds…was someone trying to open the back door? Surely not. It wouldn’t be easy to get into the rear garden; a six-foot fence separated it from the woods at the back. With eyes wide, I reached for my phone and then, with a tremor in my hand, I turned on the bedside lamp.
Clunk. Clunk.
They were testing the fastness of the mortice lock. Then again, it could just be that the wind was making the door vibrate. Sometimes, when I checked that the door was locked, it didn’t slide back into the frame properly and the wind would cause the door to shudder until it finally popped into place. I had to go and check, otherwise I was never going to sleep.
I put on my slippers, and clutching my phone in my fist, I went into the hallway. A gale howled across the house, toying with the outdoor flap that covered the bathroom air vent. I kept close to the wall as I went down the stairs, and as I reached the bottom, the sound became louder. There was a pause, and as I pressed against the wall right beside the doorway to the kitchen, a beam of light shined through, creating a bright circle on the opposite wall of the hallway. It moved around before vanishing. A torchlight?
Someone was shining a torch through the window. A trickle of cold sweat ran down my neck. What should I do? Should I confront the stranger? No, I had to call the police. My palms were slippery as I dialled the number.
“Hello, emergency services,” the woman’s voice answered.
“Hello,” I whispered anxiously as I crept into the living room and quietly pushed the door closed. “I need help, someone is trying to break into my house. Please send someone quickly.”
Waiting on the phone with the emergency service lady felt like the longest call I had ever made, yet it lasted less than fifteen minutes. When I heard a knock on the front door, I was almost too afraid to open it, and when I did, I found a pair of police officers standing out there, the rain spraying from the shoulders of their high-visibility jackets.
I felt embarrassed to have brought them here, but at the same time, it was such a relief to see them. They went upstairs to the kitchen and I unlocked the back door, but whoever had been there was gone now. The rain and the darkness made it difficult to see much of anything; they tried anyway, one of them checking the garden for the intruder with his own heavy duty torch, while the other stayed in the kitchen so she could talk to me about what had happened. She wrote down everything I said in a small notebook, so I took the opportunity to talk about the odd things that had happened thus far. I figured now was a good time to tell them about the picture that had been posted through the letter box, so I fetched it from the living room and gave it to her. She seemed concerned when I explained the situation.
“There are some signs of tampering to the lock,” the male officer told us as he stood on the back door step, his gloved hand clasp
ing the handle to keep it steady. “I’d recommend you get a more secure lock put in here, if possible. Do you have a security light?”
“No, I don’t. I rent this property, so I would have to ask my landlord,” I told him as he stepped onto the tiles and pulled the door closed.
He nodded in acknowledgement. “It would be a good idea to let your landlord know there’s been a trespasser.” His black hair was shimmering with droplets and he looked tired. I felt bad for calling them here.
“If you get any other unwanted visitors, or anything else like this—” the woman lifted the folded photograph “—you must call and report it right away, okay?”
“Okay, I will.”
I felt like somewhat of an idiot for not reporting it sooner, but as Growler had said, it wasn’t serious before. This was different.
The police soon left me on my own, stating that they would be in touch and emphasising again that I needed to call if I had any other strange incidences. I closed the door behind them after watching their car drive away, and suddenly I felt exhausted, all the energy the adrenaline had boosted within having drained away now that the danger was gone. I double-checked all of the locks, just to be sure, and went up to my bedroom, where—and perhaps this was overkill—I wedged a chair under the door handle so it would be difficult to force open. It was far too late for me to call anyone, and after all the calls I had made before, waking Growler during the night so I could go to his place and phoning Gerard when he needed to be up for work in the morning, I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself.
What about David? I looked at the screen of my phone as I hid under the duvet, the brightness of the back-light dazzling my eyes. No, it wasn’t fair to saddle him with this; it was my problem, not his.
I slipped my phone under my pillow and curled up, dragging a couple of other pillows to form a mound behind me so I wouldn’t feel so alone. I would have felt much safer if David was here with me.
* * * *
I sprayed a mist of disinfectant on the empty tabletop and began to wipe it thoroughly with the microfibre cloth, swiping a few crumbs onto the ground where I could sweep them up with my dustpan and brush. The café was busy and while Frank and Leanne manned the counter, I did the housekeeping, ensuring the tables were clean and tidy. I didn’t mind having all this work to do. It kept my mind off of what had happened the other night. Even so, I couldn’t help checking the clock, watching the hours speed by and knowing that, soon enough, I’d have to go back to my empty house.
I was seriously entertaining the idea of moving, now. I had lived in that house for nearly three years, and what great years they had been. The parties I’d hosted, the evenings spent with friends, all those happy memories. It was a place I used to go to as my sanctuary where I could shut out the rest of the world and close myself off in my own private bubble. Now, someone had attempted to invade that bubble. I couldn’t help feeling miserable about it.
After lunch, Frank and I swapped roles and Leanne went for a managerial meeting. Tending the counter and serving people forced me to put on a smile, and somehow it made me feel better. Another instance of “fake it ‘til you make it,” I suppose? Being kept on my toes helped to lift the rain-cloud that had been drifting around overhead.
“And your change, ma’am.” I handed several coins and a receipt to the lady I was serving before I closed the till.
As she turned with her tray so that the next customer could come to the counter, who should be standing behind her but David himself. He was dressed in a turtleneck jumper and black jeans under his usual raincoat, the handle of his shopping bag hidden beneath his coat sleeve. The stubble on his face had grown thicker since I last saw him and his hair was slightly a mess, but he looked so sweet and friendly standing there. I wanted to dive across the counter and hug him, I was so glad to see him. However, I was so surprised to see him that it took me a moment to extract myself from my customer-service autopilot so I could greet him.
“David!” I exclaimed, a broad grin appearing on my face as he stepped towards me.
“Hello, Tenny.” He beamed at me. “I thought maybe…I’d take you up on that coffee you offered before…”
“Sure, what can I get for you?” Suddenly, I was filled with joy and the slump I’d been in all day rapidly vanished without a trace. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in my head. No, David had flipped it.
He hesitated. “Oh, I’m not sure.”
“How about a hot chocolate? Not a coffee exactly, but it’s really good, especially in this weather,” I suggested, leaning my elbows on the glass countertop.
“Okay.” He smiled at me.
“How are you doing, anyway?” I inquired over my shoulder as I took a cup to the machine on the counter behind me.
“Good. I got your flowers this morning,” he replied, in his usual timid fashion, and I grinned, glad they had arrived. “They were lovely. No one’s ever sent me flowers before. So, I-I was wondering if I could come over sometime soon…?”
“Are you busy tonight?” I asked, turning so I could see him as I finished making his hot chocolate.
“Well—no, no.” He seemed alarmed by my question.
“My shift ends in an hour. I could meet you after?” I suggested, placing the steaming cup of thick chocolate on the hard surface in front of him.
“Can I wait for you here?”
“If you don’t mind hanging around for an hour watching me serve customers, then sure, I don’t see why not.” I grinned. It was a strange dynamic meeting him at work. Being the employee, it should have elevated him above me, but he didn’t seem to pick up on that at all.
“I will wait for you,” he assured me, and I could tell he had no desire to leave now that we had made our arrangements.
“Alright, then. Only another—“ I pushed back my sleeve so I could check my watch “—fifty minutes to go, I’ll fetch you when I clock out.”
He finally smiled at me. He picked up the cup, his sleeve wrapped around it, then he searched for an empty table, of which there were plenty from which to choose.
After putting some coins in the till to cover the cost of his drink, I sighed and rested my elbows on the counter, watching David as he walked away. He had that slow, dithering demeanour about him that nervous children and elderly people tended to have, but I liked that about him; it made him gentle and thoughtful.
Another man was coming across the café on hurried feet, weaving between the tables without slowing; perhaps he had a bus to catch? I had seen him sitting at a table in the back, reading a newspaper and picking apart a croissant he’d ordered earlier. It was solely because of the speed he was moving that he caught my eye.
Suddenly, he ran straight into David, bashing him mercilessly with his elbow, and in a flash, the cocoa went everywhere. The paper cup flew over David’s shoulder and scalding liquid splashed across his front and poured down his trouser legs, pattering in brown droplets on the tops of his shoes and over the floor I had only recently finished mopping.
I rushed from behind the counter, grabbing a roll of kitchen towels and almost slipping on the polished linoleum in my haste to go to David’s rescue.
“Watch where you’re walking, you damned idiot!” the man snapped at David, his eyes glaring as he moved away. He was looking at David with his top lip curled as though a cockroach had just crawled out of a crevice and into his path.
“I—I—” David kept stuttering but he couldn’t get out the words.
“Look, you got your goddamn drink all over my shirt,” the man cussed, gesturing to the tiny dark spots on his sleeve.
“Excuse me. Excuse me!” I had to raise my voice as I approached, rounding the nearest table so I could come between them. “It was just an accident. Here, I’ve got some tissue if you need it.”
The man’s glaring eyes switched to me, and in seconds, they softened, but he still seemed angry. Something about him seemed familiar.
“This moron just walked straight into me,” he st
ated, gesturing to poor David, standing there dripping and looking upset.
“It was an accident,” I repeated with emphasis, tearing a handful of paper from the roll and offering it to the irate man. That’s when I realised why I recognised him; it was the man who’d helped me with the old lady’s tray some time ago. He’d seemed so friendly then. I guess we all have sides to us that usually stay hidden.
“Whatever,” he sneered and swiped the tissue from my hand, before turning in a huff and striding off. I watched him go, my eyes half-closed with the jaded expression of someone who has worked in hospitality far too long. David made a little tremble beside me.
“David? Are you alright?” I examined the state of his clothing. The cocoa had created an enormous muddy patch all down the front of his top. He grunted when I pulled the soaked fabric away from his chest. It was still hot.
“I th-think it’s burned me.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“Okay, come with me. You can borrow my T-shirt.” I took hold of his wrist and pulled him from the canteen area towards the secure door at the side of the counter.
“Maybe I should go home,” he mumbled, watching me swipe my staff card on the electronic lock, the light flashing green as it released so I could open the door.
“It’s alright, he was just some asshole who wasn’t looking where he was going. It’s not your fault.” I ushered him into the hallway beyond. The staff area wasn’t as pristine and lovingly decorated as the café; clumps of dust fringed the edges of the hall and cobwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling, the walls lined with scrapes and scratches from constant use.
“Are you sure I’m allowed back here?” he questioned.
“No, but it’s late and none of the bosses are here.” I hoped I was right, and Sergeant Swindle wouldn’t appear ‘round the corner at any second. He was the big boss, the guy whose great grandfather had started the business, which had gradually grown from a tiny market stall selling vegetables to a full-blown supermarket. We called him “Sergeant” because he behaved with the bravado of a war veteran, when at most, the only military experience he’d had was as an army base kitchen worker, peeling potatoes and washing pans.
