Confessions of a Window Cleaner. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ very sultry now and the sky looks as if it’s going to piss down with rain at any moment. I’ve seen enough flicks to know that when nature starts rearing it’s ugly head someone usually gets their end away and I hope the signs do not lie. I am round the side of the house and the window from which the tapping is coming is clearly the bathroom as there is a stream of drain-bound soapy water splashing over my boots. Perhaps she has locked herself in and needs help. The very thought has me whipping up the ladder like a clockwork monkey. Viv is pressed against the window which should be alright because the lower half is frosted glass. However, she is pressed so tight that the first thing I see is a nice bit of milky white tit with a flattened nipple in the middle of it. She moves back when she follows my eyes.

      “You alright?” I say.

      “I haven’t had any complaints.”

      “No. I mean I thought you’d, oh, it doesn’t matter.”

      “I wondered if you’d like a cup of tea?”

      “Yes, that would be nice. I’ve just got the front to do and I’ll pop in.”

      “Right, I’ll put the kettle on.”

      The inside of the window is steamed up, and there’s a cracking niff of perfume bashing my hooter. She needn’t have bothered because I’d go for her if she had a spoonful of dripping behind the ears – or would I? I can hardly finish the windows for thinking about it and three times I drop my scrim in the same flower bed and have to rinse the bastard out. I’ll never have a better chance to score and yet that very fact is making my old man feel like it would have difficulty making a dent in a plate of cold soup. It’s like having an empty goal to shoot at and knowing you’re going to bang the ball eight yards over the bar. For a second, I even considered pissing off and leaving the whole thing for another time but I know I’ve got to go through with it – or try to.

      Taking another of my deep breaths and feeling absolutely certain that my old man has dropped off and got lodged half way down one of my trouser legs, I rap on the back door and wait for Viv’s husband to open it.

      “It’s open” she calls and when I go in she’s just taking the kettle off. She’s still wearing the slippers but on the rest of her is one of those big padded housecoats with frills around the hem. It is tied tightly around the waist but somehow manages to spring apart up top so I get another eyeful of her bristols.

      “Do you like it?” she says, and for a moment I’m on the point of telling her I like both of them. Then I realise she means the housecoat.

      “Very nice,” I gulp. “Er, it makes you look very sexy.”

      “You don’t sound very convinced,” she says. “How do you like it, hot and strong like Sid?”

      She has this habit of suddenly switching from one subject to another which throws me a bit.

      “You mean the tea?”

      “What else?”

      “Anyway it comes, I’m not fussy.”

      “Why don’t you sit down. You make me nervous standing there.”

      I sit down and find myself playing with the sugar bowl and trying to think of something to say.

      “I think we’re going to have a storm,” I manage eventually.

      “Shouldn’t wonder,” she puts a cup of tea in front of me and sits down on the other side of the table.

      “Do you smoke?”

      “No thanks.”

      She lights a fag and blows a puff of smoke at me as if from a peashooter. She’s got that amused, distant look on her face again.

      “Cheer up.”

      That’s always a disastrous thing to say to me because it’s like telling a bloke you can see his trousers are falling down.

      “I’m very happy” I say and listen to the silence. If only I could be like Sid. He’d be chatting her up and dancing about so the whole thing would be like ‘Spring in Park Lane’. The same though obviously occurs to Viv because she rests her head in her hand and gazes at me sadly.

      “You’re a quiet one compared to Sid,” she says.

      “Still waters.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Still waters run deep.”

      “Oh, I see. You’re a deep one, are you?”

      “Well, I don’t know about that—”

      She gets up and comes behind me resting her fingers lightly on my shoulders for a second.

      “How deep do you go?”

      “What do you—”

      “—It doesn’t matter. Have another cup of tea.”

      She reaches down past me and her warm arm brushes against the side of my face. Now’s your chance, I shout to myself but by the time I get around to moving, she’s over the other side of the kitchen filling the teapot.

      “There you are,” she says, “a nice cup of cha. Do you fancy a biscuit?”

      “Yes, very nice. Ta.”

      She couldn’t be more obliging but she’s obviously waiting for me to do something. So am I.

      “Chocolate finger or a ginger nut?”

      “Ginger nut, please.”

      “I won’t join you because I have to watch my figure.”

      “I should think you have a lot of company.” That’s not bad and I can see it goes down well.

      “Cheeky. No, its alright for an old married woman, I suppose, but I have to work at it.”

      “What does your old man do—” I say very casual.

      “Oh, he’s in the navy. In Singapore at the moment, lucky basket. I can just imagine what he’s up to.”

      I’m glad there are a few thousand miles between us.

      “How long is he away for?”

      “Oh, months at a time. Why, are you thinking of moving in?”

      “It’s an idea.”

      “You don’t sound very enthusiastic. I know some blokes who would jump at the chance.”

      I would jump at it too if I wasn’t such a stupid tongue-tied twat. I can listen to myself like some gormless berk you overhear on the bus and feel sorry for, but I can’t get off my arse and tell her I want to fuck her. I feel it so badly I’m nearly crying but it’s stuck inside me and I don’t think anything is going to bring it out. Now, I can’t think of a thing to say. Not a single bloody little word. I’m sitting there concentrating and I know my face is setting as if its in a jelly mould. СКАЧАТЬ