50

Mrs Careen heard a knock at the back door. She stepped over to the cabinet in the front lounge, picking up a bottle of Laphroaig, two glasses and the wooden block and pegs. Never a bad time for cribbage, she thought.

Wandering through the door to the kitchen, she stopped still, seeing the Neighbour from Number Seven out in the freezing rain. Though not remotely inclined to let him in, she found herself opening the door as she watched him shivering uncontrollably. She stepped back as he stepped his bare feet in and onto her mat. His nails were long and sharp.

“I met your boy today,” he said, “a sweet lad.”

Mrs Careen winced, hearing this man's voice again after all these years. It had grown mouldy. She said nothing in return, hoping that he was in an episode that might resolve itself speedily if she did nothing to feed whatever delusions his twisted mind had created that had been powerful enough to lure him from his cavern.

“His sister, quite the demented fuck, hey.” He continued. Again, she said nothing. His eyes narrowed as he saw the dog bowl. The neighbour stepped further in, his drenched housecoat ran last year's mud onto the tile floor. Only a shower can show just how filthy someone is.

“Funny of Phil to take him in, what will he do to memorialise the boy when he disappears, do you think? I hope he rears chickens, something meaty to go with that ridiculous picnic of his.” Mrs Careen realised then that she needed to do something to get him out, both to keep him away from her carpets and because she sensed him getting that horrible confidence of the deranged with an audience.

“I think maybe you should head home, you must be freezing - head home, hey - nice warm bath.”

“Warm bath does sound good, actually,” he said, moving closer to the love-seat in the corner. “Big chair,” He continued, “wonder who that’s for” he choked his sick laugh.

“Seriously, come on now, please, you’re scaring me a little. It’s late, please go.”

“I don’t mean to frighten you Ellen, wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at all. Just thought it might be nice to catch up again. But I can see I’ve come by a little too late.”

“Thank you, thank you for understanding, it’s, it’s been lovely to see you again.”

The neighbour stepped back from the chair, a small pool had run from his leg over the tiles down to the edge of the rug and started to stain it brown. He walked close by her, leant in for a small kiss, but she quickly stepped back and around to the other side of the kitchen. He looked at every part of her then. She watched his eyes run along her hairline, he checked her ears, the space between her nose and upper lip. She watched as he ran over her arms, checking her fingers, back across her chest and stomach and down. She kept her eyes on his as he finished his review of her legs, her feet. She felt her hands keep touching her body against her will in the places he’d been.

“That’s a lovely watch,” he said as he turned and walked out the open door back into the freezing night.

Mrs Careen dove down to the sprays beneath the sink, grabbed a cloth and was straight over to the rug. Too late.