Echoes. Laura Dockrill

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СКАЧАТЬ shape that happened to be quite charming and her eyes, quite almond-shaped, looked into my soul and unpicked a few stitches. I decided I fancied her slightly.

      ‘So where are the two of you troublemakers off to?’ She winked at me, pulling me in on the joke.

      ‘Troublemakers!’ the vicar squealed. ‘I don’t think that we’ll be seeing any trouble from me, not as long as the Lord is watching!’ The vicar panicked under the beautiful scrutiny of Sally-Anne, his nimble hands locked into a prayer position before again making good use of his handkerchief.

      ‘We’re going to have tea,’ I answered, not wanting to neglect Sally-Anne.

      ‘Yes, we’re having tea at the sweet little teashop in the park. Do you know it?’

      ‘Well, I was passing through that way anyway to meet a girlfriend. Perhaps I could join your walk?’ Sally-Anne smiled, her teeth as perfect as the white picket fence I could see framing the home we shall live in for the rest of our lives together.

      Sally-Anne met her friend at an indoor table and the vicar and I chose to sit outside in the sun.

      ‘She’s a real beauty, Jim, honestly. From one man to another, she makes me question my faith. She brings me out in these…you know…steams.’ The vicar wiped his forehead. He tried to focus on me; his blank eyes drove holes into mine. I decided it was time to draw him back to my problem.

      ‘Right, well, in terms of foxes, I’d say sprinkle the juice of twelve ripe lemons onto your front lawn; the smell will put them off doing their dirty business outside your home, something about the citrus. By the way, when are the Barretts back?’ the vicar asked, doing up the dorky little buttons on his jacket.

      ‘The day after tomorrow,’ I answered.

      ‘Come and see me before you go, share a tumbler of Jim Beam, Jim Beam. Tell me, before you scoot, is she looking?’

      ‘No, Vicar,’ I answered. She was looking at me.

      The two of us left the café and made our way towards the path home. ‘Damn!’ I sighed. ‘I forgot to tip the waitress,’ I lied, clicking my fingers for dramatic effect. ‘I’d better go back.’

      ‘No need, I go there often, I can drop in some change tomorrow,’ the vicar offered.

      ‘No, it’s very rude of me. Here, take Mozart.’ I quickly took Mozart’s lead off my wrist and handed it to the vicar, ‘I’ll just run by and drop off a little bit,’ I insisted, and turned my walk into a backwards jog towards the café. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

      The door fanned open and plunged at me the smell of toasted almonds, honey and coffee. Sally-Anne’s eyes hit mine like cricket balls, my eyes wanted to bleed. I acted fast, went up to the counter, tore off a piece off the corner of a receipt and hurried the waitress to find me a pen.

      ‘Got a biro, love, but it’s red.’

      ‘That’s fine, red’s fine.’ I snatched the pen away with such haste I forgot to say thank you as I squiggled my details down on the corner and called back the same waitress. ‘That girl–that woman–over there, when you give her the bill could you also please give her this? Thank you and for the pen, thank you.’ I rushed out and met the vicar.

      ‘Was she still in there?’ the vicar asked handing me back Mozart.

      ‘Who?’ I acted. I was proud of my fast response.

      

      At home it was getting late and the darkness had already begun filtering through the sky. Mozart had decided to eat which eased my worry slightly as his instinct was usually accurate. I plucked a book from the shelf–it was a book about plants. But, much though I loved flora, I soon fell asleep.

      I woke to a fast squawking ring from the telephone that startled me.

      ‘Hello, Barretts’ residence…’

      ‘Barrett? I thought your name was Beam?’

      ‘It is Beam. Who is this?’

      ‘Well who is this? Are you having an identity crisis?’ It was Sally-Anne, I could tell.

      ‘No, no, not at all, I’m house sitting.’ I didn’t want her to think I was married with a family.

      ‘I’m joking. I gathered you weren’t from here, you don’t exactly fit in. It’s Sally-Anne, by the way.’

      ‘Yes, I know. I mean, I thought so.’

      ‘So, you’re in then.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘When do you leave?’

      ‘The day after tomorrow.’

      ‘So I guess we’re in a bit of a hurry.’

      ‘I guess so.’

      ‘I’ll come round. Can you wait twenty-six minutes?’

      ‘Yes. Why twenty-six?’ But she had already hung up. What a bewitching woman. I pondered on the thought of such an entity being in my space, my comfy universe with Mozart and what it would feel like to have that ruptured. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t wait. I jumped up to bathe, put a bottle of wine in the fridge and then lit candles. I wanted to wash the sheets from last night but I didn’t want to get myself a reputation. The record began to turn and the latch released.

      

      Sally-Anne wore a long purple silk dress, her creamy arms sat in a heart-shaped clutch in her hands. I poured her wine and she enchanted me more with her cheekiness. She wasn’t like any other woman I had ever met; within moments her feet slipped naked from her heels and began squeezing my calves.

      ‘I brought you a present,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s more for Mozart, really. Where is that chap, anyway?’ she asked innocently.

      ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure if you have a gift for him he’d like to see it.’ I jumped up and called the dog’s name. ‘Mo! Mo!’ Nothing. ‘He sometimes curls up in the oddest of places; wherever there’s an inch of warmth, he’s usually snuggled up there.’ I started to climb the house, I wasn’t really in the mood for playing hide and seek with Mozart but I didn’t want to disappoint Sally-Anne. I called him in the bedrooms, searched on the beds, in the laundry baskets, under the radiator and, after finding nothing, climbed up the next set of stairs. This floor was home to the master bedroom, Mrs Barrett’s sewing room and the door to the attic. I peered for him in both rooms, he would normally come to a call.

      But while I was searching, a vile smell started to lurk up the staircase. I peered down, it was a burning smell, bitter and it hit the back of my throat. A fire! I rushed down the stairs in a panic, ‘Sally-Anne, are you okay?’ The smoke flooded up the stairs in a dark groggy fog, ‘Sally-Anne, have you got Mozart?’ As I reached the bottom of the stairs I was hit by a wall of black swirling smoke, thick like a screen of charcoal. I began to cough in deep chesty whoops.

      ‘Jim! Help! Help me!’ came a distant voice. It was Sally-Anne calling from the front room. ‘Jim! Please, come quick!’

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