by Nina Manning
The house was so silent as I opened my bedroom door that I felt my heart thumping in my ears.
I stole down the stairs, careful not to tread on the parts of the steps that I knew would groan back at me. I found my way into the kitchen with the torch from my phone and turned on one of the lights to make myself a cup of herbal tea and sat down at the kitchen table. I could hear the creaking of the house as the central heating came on, the temperature in the house had dropped and even though warmer days were here, we were still feeling the cold in the night, especially as the house was so old. I opened my phone and looked for Mrs Clean, to see what I had missed whilst I had been asleep, and just as I had thought, she had posted on Instagram stories and a new post. The woman was busy. I was becoming accustomed to seeing which posts were ads, and I noticed that the main post on her Instagram account was just that. It was an image of a geometric abstract rug, grey and yellow. It was unusual to see a flash of colour in her shots as everything was usually black and white and grey. The photo was taken on an angle again, and I was somewhat taken with the design and colour. I looked at it for a long time, longer than any rug I had ever looked at before. Then I went down to the comments section and scrolled through until I found the ones I was looking for. The ones filled with outrage and hatred.
marvingayandgetiton Who does she think she is? That’s two ads back to back. You need to rein it in, love. We don’t come on here to see you flaunting your money.
mrsdownside I don’t mind the odd ad but come on, two in a row, not to mention one last week.
deux_enfants Is it me or is this woman posting more and more ads? What is it with these female Instagrammers? It’s all about the money.
lucybest65 I think she is pretending to be someone she isn’t. It’s so obvious.
I stopped on the comment from lucybest65. Her name seemed to be on every post from Mrs Clean. I didn’t know why I hadn’t clicked on her profile before, but now, as I found my way into her account, I could see it was pretty sparse: a few badly taken images of the dinner she had cooked last night (Beans on toast – pimped, read the caption), a too close-up shot of a flower just in bloom and a shot of something she had watched on TV – a police documentary. Her own profile picture was an image of Velma Dinkley from Scooby Doo.
It seemed odd that she would follow someone like Mrs Clean, and then mouth off at her for trying to make a living. It felt as though lucybest65 was only out to spread the hatred. Lucybest65 was a troll; someone who followed successful people’s lives in order to cause disruption. I noticed that her comments came in regularly and they attracted a fair few likes and comments themselves. I decided from here on in, I would keep an eye on her. For some unfathomable reason, I felt a need to protect Mrs Clean.
A loud bang came from just outside and I froze. I looked down at my phone and thought about the missed call that had come through at midnight, just a few hours ago.
I got to my feet and made my way to the front door and peered through the spyhole. I couldn’t see anything. Then I heard it again, the noise; like plastic on tarmac. I began to unlock the door as dread tugged at my insides. To curb some of the fear, I shut the lock five more times, but it still gripped me like a vice as I slowly pulled the door open, not knowing what or whom I would find on the other side. It was deadly quiet on the street and I was surprised to be greeted by a clear, starry night with a moon that was full and bright. I shivered in just my pyjamas and stepped outside. I could immediately see our main bin had been thrown over and the contents had been ransacked by an animal of some kind. Probably a fox. I wasn’t going to be falling back asleep any time soon, so I headed back to the kitchen to grab a pair of Marigolds and a few bin liners.
Outside the house, I slapped them on and I lifted up the wheelie bin and then picked up the bag that had been ripped open. I started sifting through the rubbish and placing things in the new bag when my fingers met with a hard, plastic object. I recognised it immediately as a pregnancy test. I turned it over and saw the word Pregnant and then 3–4 weeks. I supposed that someone from the street could have thrown it in the bin on their way past, but it was too embedded in the rubbish, as though someone had stuffed it right in amongst everything else to hide it. I just hadn’t imagined that any of the girls would be getting themselves pregnant at their age. I presumed everyone had it all figured out; there were certainly enough options available for them.
I immediately started wondering who it could be. I thought of Karen first; she was the one who seemed the most settled. Then there was Mini in bed with her young man after the party, but those dates didn’t add up; although she could, of course, be seeing other people. I was sure it wasn’t Sophia as she hadn’t been in a relationship for over a year; she was apparently taking time away from blokes and I’d never seen anyone come by the house.
I was reminded of the time I held a test like this in my hand. It was just blue lines, not a fancy digital version like this. We had gone for the cheaper option. What I remember most was being told I didn’t need to buy the cheaper options, that we had plenty of money. And I suppose we did. We had. But I had been brought up to be frugal, which was why I got into textiles. Creating things from nothing was always what I was good at. I shivered as I felt the cool night air filter through my pyjamas. I quickly finished stuffing the rest of the rubbish into the new bag, including the pregnancy test, threw the new bag into the bin and shut the lid down tightly.
I took one last cautious look around and went back into the house.
I locked and unlocked the front door six times, ending on a lock, then removed the Marigolds, washed my hands and took my tea and phone back up the stairs.
I locked and unlocked my door six times, then I fell into bed.
At the breakfast table the next morning, I stole intermittent glances between Mini and Karen, trying to work out which one of them was pregnant. I tried to look for any signs of nausea or tiredness, but both of them seemed their usual selves. Mini was making light chit-chat and Karen was still trying her best to ignore me.
‘I got a match,’ I said to swerve the conversation to something I knew they would both be interested in.
‘Oh my God, that’s amazing.’ Mini almost choked on her tea. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Well, I don’t know, I’ll find out this weekend. We’re going for a drink.’
Mini screwed her face up in confusion. ‘So you mean you haven’t actually even like chatted or anything?’
I shook my head. ‘No. He asked if I wanted to meet for a drink and I said yes.’
Karen shook her head, and I was sure I heard a small snigger escape her lips.
‘It’s just, well, usually, you sort of chat via your messages first, get to know more about them,’ Mini said informatively.
‘But surely that’s what meeting them face to face does? You forget, Mini, I’m old school. When I was your age, there were none of these apps – it was plain and simple. He looks nice enough and shares similar interests, so I am sure we’ll have plenty to talk about.’
‘So when do you go on this date then?’ Karen asked without looking up at me.
‘Friday night.’
‘Nice,’ said Mini.
‘Do you think it’s too soon?’ I said, suddenly worried I had made the wrong decision to meet him so soon. Perhaps I should have continued to chat to him for a few days, as Mini had suggested.
‘No, no, it’s fine, you obviously think it’s okay. I mean, I personally would be all flirty-flirty for a few days, but that’s mainly for entertainment purposes.’ Mini wrinkled her nose.
‘Okay, well, I’m going to meet him and simply hope he’s not an axe-murderer. I’m sure he will be fine.’
‘Why do people always use that reference? Axe-murderer? It’s so retro,’ Karen said.
I smiled. ‘I suppose it is. In my day, there were a lot of films with women running away from men with big weapons.’
Mini raised her eyebrows and sniggered.
‘Now it’s all cybor
gs and dystopian mania,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m sure you oldies will have a lovely time remembering your favourite slasher movies,’ Karen said, shovelling a mouthful of All-Bran into her mouth.
‘Ahh. It’s going to be great, isn’t it, Karen?’ Mini shoved Karen slightly harder than she had meant to and Karen sloped to one side, shot Mini a look and then rested her gaze on me.
The date was just two days away and I contemplated cancelling about a hundred times, opening the app, setting out a message to him before deleting it again. I kept reminding myself that I had to do this for my sanity. I needed to just get out there, have a few dates, and behave like everyone else. Not someone who checks the locks on windows six times and crawls on their hands and knees into their neighbour’s garden. This was not me; I was better than this.
Eventually, Friday arrived. We had arranged to meet at a pub in Waterloo at 7 p.m. I arrived outside the pub five minutes before our scheduled date. I stalled for a few seconds and was just contemplating heading back home again when I heard, ‘Regi?’ I spun around and saw a real-life version of the man from the photo on my dating app. It was surreal, to say the least. His features were more prominent than his photo showed. His hair was now a lot longer, set high on his head and swept stylishly to one side. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and a light-green jacket was slung over his arm.
‘How are you?’ he asked, a slightly posh cut to his voice. ‘Good journey, I hope?’
‘Yes, it was great,’ I replied on autopilot, realising afterwards I was talking like a robot. It hadn’t been great; I had been anxious and scared the entire way and, anyway, who ever has a ‘great’ journey into central London?
‘Good, good.’ He nodded and I stood very still, suddenly unable to speak or move.
He blew out a loud breath. ‘So shall we…?’ He gestured to the door to the pub.
‘Yes, oh, yes, let’s,’ I said as he held it open for me.
The atmosphere hit me like a wall as I entered the pub. I began my breathing techniques immediately, hoping that it didn’t look too obvious. It was hot, busy and unfamiliar. I hadn’t frequented anywhere like this for such a long time.
‘What do you say we find a quiet corner?’ Calvin’s voice was suddenly loud and in my ear, and I jumped at the closeness of him.
I followed Calvin as he navigated us through the crowds and to a corner at the back of the pub that was quieter and calmer. I immediately looked for the sign for the toilets and also a fire exit. Both of which were within visible distance.
‘I’m just going to…’ I said as he went to sit, then he righted himself and nodded.
‘Oh, yes, sure, absolutely. Hopefully you’re not doing a runner through the toilet window,’ he said deadpan, and then his face broke into a smile.
I looked confused, then I managed a smile. ‘God, no. Of course not.’ I scooted off towards the toilet.
Inside the cubicle, I unlocked and locked the door six times. At the sink, I lathered my hands for thirty-four seconds, counting in my head as I did. I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering who the stranger was staring back at me. Eventually I mouthed, ‘You can do this.’
I found my way back to Calvin, who was perusing the drinks menu and not on his phone, which I found refreshing. I had already checked my phone on the way here on the train to see what Mrs Clean had been posting. In fact, I had been checking several times a day, always on the lookout for the newest post and always checking in with lucybest65, the troll, to see what she had been posting.
And lucybest65 just wouldn’t let up. She was there commenting on every post, making her opinion known and not very kindly as per usual. I thought how strange it was that the best part of my day was when I could look in on the cyber lives of two women I had never even met. But here I was, and I needed to live in the moment, this crazy moment of… what was I doing? I supposed it was a blind date of sorts, even though I had seen his face in a photo. And there he was in the flesh, looking at me with a small smile, maybe as nervous as I was about the date.
‘You came back then,’ he said as I slid into a seat at a right angle to him.
‘I did. I contemplated slipping out the window, but these pins aren’t as nimble as they once were.’ I looked around as I spoke and rubbed my hands on my knees. They felt sweaty. My mouth felt dry. I wondered who would get the drinks.
He smiled graciously at my attempt at banter. ‘Well, now you’re staying, for a while at least, what can I get you to drink?’
‘Okay, I’ll take a vodka and tonic, with a splash of lime, please,’ I said.
‘Good stuff.’ He stood up and edged his way past my chair, which I had to nudge in a bit to let him past. As soon as I saw he was out of sight, I pulled out my phone to see what I had missed since I had last looked, which was just over half an hour ago.
Mrs Clean hadn’t posted any new stories or posts since this afternoon, but there were more comments. I had to scroll down for a good few minutes to find what lucybest65 had been saying.
Just four words stood out.
The woman needs help.
When did the world become so confrontational, why were people constantly looking for the bad in everything and everyone? The connection I felt with Mrs Clean was constantly being marred by this unnecessary unkindness. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from searching for lucybest65’s comments whenever there was a new post. I slammed the phone down. My foot tapped manically under the table as I balled my hands into fists.
‘Everything okay?’ Calvin set my drink down next to me.
I looked up. ‘Oh, yes, yes. Thank you.’ I unclenched my fists and calmed my tapping as I looked at the glass with welcome eyes and even before he had sat himself back down I had taken a long drink.
I subtly wiped my mouth with my hand and watched as he took a sip of his pint of Guinness. He pressed his lips together as he swallowed.
‘Well, thanks for coming. It’s Richmond you live in, you say?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Very nice. There’s some lovely houses round there, and the parks.’
‘I share a house. With three girls.’
‘Sounds busy. Is the house nice?’
‘Yes, it is actually. It’s pretty old, as you can imagine. Creaky pipes, clunky floorboards. But so much character.’ I could feel the warmth of the vodka penetrating my body. Calvin was nodding.
‘I love old houses, they have so much personality. I love a novel with an old house.’
‘Like Rebecca?’ I offered.
‘Like Rebecca.’
‘Turn of the Screw?’
‘Urgh.’
‘Yep, hated it too.’ I took another long drink of my vodka and Calvin followed suit with his Guinness.
‘The Haunting of Hill House?’ Calvin set down his Guinness.
‘Ooh, creepy.’
‘Ooh, how about The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?’
‘Of course!’ I said.
‘The Suspicions of Mr Whicher?’
‘I reckon we’ve covered them all,’ I said with a small smile.
‘No, never – there are hundreds, I know there are. Maybe we could make it our challenge to read a selection? Our own little book club.’
‘How very quaint.’ I pushed a stray hair behind my ear and Calvin watched me over his pint glass. ‘I’ve never been in a book club before.’ I knew it was the sort of thing that women my age did. If I was doing school runs and meeting other mums, I supposed I would probably be the founding member of one by now.
‘Well, I think now is the time. I declare this the first meeting of the Old House’s Book Club. You pick the first title.’ Calvin finished his beer with a final gulp. I was surprised at how easily he had finished, but then when I went to pick my own glass up I could see it was empty.
‘Another? Maybe you could think of the first book whilst I am at the bar?’
I smiled and handed him my glass.
I fidgeted in my seat for a moment and then pulled
out my phone. I couldn’t keep ignoring these comments from Lucy. I went straight to Instagram and found the most recent comment that she had left. I quickly started typing a reply.
Regitex @lucybest65 Why do you have to keep having a go? Mrs Clean seems to be doing a fab job as far as I can see, and she has to make some money somehow, so a few ads here and there makes sense. I believe what you are is jealous.
I hit the send button before I could change my mind. It was the alcohol; I certainly wouldn’t have made a statement like that to someone I didn’t know without it. Somehow, with the swell of the alcohol inside me I felt I had the right to comment. Now I was as bad as the rest of them. I felt a wave of shame and regret wash over me as I placed my phone down. Calvin appeared next to me with another vodka and tonic and lime.
‘Thanks, you’ll have to let me get the next ones,’ I said.
‘Everything all right?’ He gestured to my phone.
I looked down at my mobile on the table and then quickly picked it up and shoved it in my handbag.
‘Oh, yes, yes, it’s fine, I was, I just had to do something.’
‘You’re not “needed”?’ he said and used his fingers as quotation marks.
I looked down at my bag and then at him. ‘Oh, you mean… Oh right, I get it, God no. I’m a terrible liar – if someone was on the other end pretending to have an emergency, I’m not sure I could keep a straight face.’
Calvin smiled, sat down and took a sip of his Guinness.
‘Besides, you should think a little more of yourself. That’s twice now you’ve presumed I’m doing a runner and we’re only on our second drink. Has that, you know, ever happened before?’
Calvin cleared his throat and looked down at his pint.
‘Once,’ he said coyly.
‘Oh no!’ I said, trying to suppress the laughter. ‘What happened?’
‘Exactly that, her phone rang just after she came back from the loo and she started this over the top dialogue, all “Oh my God, are you okay?” and then said she had to go as her friend had just had a car accident. I mean, it was a bit dramatic.’
