Читать книгу The Mirror's Tale - Christine Hummel - Страница 11

I busied myself with all the improvement plans that had to be done in the short time I had left before the holiday. It was quite a challenge to fit it all in while working full time, as usual. In fact, I was not behaving as the person I normally would; the overly conscientious, work-centred being, that I had become, since I had lost my previous status as a married woman and mother. I was cutting corners like an Italian racing driver. (Appropriate! I thought.) It worried me that it might be noticed – and - let’s face it – if it wasn’t, it said a lot about peoples’ awareness of me and my work.

I no longer arrived much earlier than necessary to make sure everything was perfect, so that the day would run like clockwork. Instead of the carefully prepared sandwiches and salads I made daily to take for my lunch that I proudly consumed in front of the other staff, I resorted to bought, plastic-wrapped offerings that I would previously have despised. But the final horror was when I found myself queuing with the kids in the school canteen as, having failed to make the sandwiches, and having been in too much of a hurry even to buy something on the way, it was the only option still open to me – apart from starving.

My whole daily structure was dissolving. One or two of the women on the staff commented that I seemed unusually stressed and even enquired, somewhat half-heartedly if anything was the matter, to which I could more-or-less honestly reply that there wasn’t a problem.

I had decided not to tell anyone about my scheme; chances were that it would come to nothing anyway. Besides, keeping it a secret gave it a certain frisson. Perhaps I was somewhat concerned that at least one of the people I mixed with, would destroy the dream - tell me not to be so stupid.

One Friday evening, with only another week to go before school would break up for half term I was reviewing the progress of ‘the Big Plan’. I had decided it was going quite well, and I was happy about the new clothes I had amassed - it hadn’t been limited to one outfit but, since once the purse strings were loosened, once the chequebook was unfurled, the credit-card flashed a few times, there was no stopping me.

I had bought some unusual, interesting things that I knew demonstrated my character, carried my signature. It felt good to find myself again and I knew that whatever the outcome of this little adventure I was planning, it was not a wasted effort.

As I was separating myself from the need for this plan to be successful, I went into my small, now slightly neglected kitchen, to make myself a coffee. I usually kept it spotless, but let’s face it, when you have nothing else to do and nowhere to go, housework fills in time. When I was still married and had a kid at home I was anything but the model housekeeper; but my solitary existence had caused many habits of mine to change: Funny how circumstances can cause such radical alterations to one’s way of living.

Now things had changed again. I had returned to smoking: The excitement called for it and it belonged to my younger self with which I was now becoming reacquainted.

A coffee and cigarette would go nicely with my slightly heady mood. As I filled water from the tap into my much-used filter coffee maker, I glanced out of the window onto the darkening street. For a second I caught a glimpse of someone on the pavement opposite who was looking up at my window and who quickly slid behind the large plane tree that grew on the other side of the road.

Isn’t this just the sort of incident that every woman who lives alone fears? I had not seen enough of the person to get much idea of who it might be, but I had a strong impression that it was a man. Yes, I was certain it was a man.

After looking out for several seconds I put the coffee jug down and went out of my flat to the stairwell. The automatic lights that belonged to the shared areas of the house had not yet come on but they would at any moment.

I wanted to look out of the hallway window to see if I could spot this man again before he left. If I could do this in the dark he wouldn’t be able to see me, I thought. As I waited, the figure behind the tree moved along the pavement, trying to see into my flat from a different angle. It was him. I was almost sure it was him. I moved rapidly away from the window as the lights burst on. I had backed away just in time. Returning to my flat I avoided going near any of my windows and sat down heavily on the sofa. My mind was in turmoil. Was it him, or was I being fanciful?

I wasn’t sure which would be preferable, that it was him - a semi-known quantity, or a totally unknown quantity. Then I realised I knew nothing about this man except that he liked good coffee and read Italian newspapers.

I returned to the moment in hand, turning off the light and returning to the window. All that was to be seen was a car leaving its parking space below my window. It was a dark blue Alpha Romeo. I could see it quite clearly in the streetlights. So what. There are thousands of those out there. Doesn’t mean a thing. But it would have meant less if it had been a Honda or a Ford.

I lit another cigarette.

Let’s face it, no-one knows much about anyone when they first meet them do they? But if it was him, how had he found out where I lived and why was he being so sneaky about it? Why hadn’t he just started talking to me as people usually do when they fancy someone? I had to admit I found it somewhat disquieting. Don’t be daft, you can’t even be sure it was him. That left the other possibility…. I poured myself a large glass of red wine to steady my nerves. It would help me sleep I reasoned.

Eventually, once I had emptied the bottle, I forced myself to go to bed. I dozed off almost immediately but, as often happened when I had drunk too much, I woke up about an hour later. I was immediately alert as I remembered the happenings of the previous evening. I wanted to get up but I still felt uneasy about putting the light on.

I didn’t think whoever it was would still be out there, but I was still feeling nervously disturbed and I lay there in the dark wondering whether I should scratch the whole plan. But it would be such a disappointment and, I decided, if I didn’t like the way things were going I could always pull out later - if indeed anything happened at all. Which was probably not at all likely, was it?

Although this was not what I had been planning and working towards all these weeks, the idea of absolutely nothing happening, calmed me somewhat, enough to send me back finally into a restless, disturbed, dream-laden sleep.

The following morning when our paths crossed he was ostentatiously looking at his diary or some notebook and deliberately avoided eye contact. ‘Hmm!’ I thought, ‘that probably points to the fact that it had been him outside the previous night. Though wouldn’t he be more likely to act normal if he thought I suspected.’ I couldn’t come to any decision on this. But, after weeks of always giving me a nod of recognition as we passed each morning in the station, wasn’t this a bit odd.

There was no part of me that thought it wasn’t, and I came down on the side of believing it had definitely been him. So what did I make of that? I really didn’t know what to think.

So, I put it away. It wasn’t in the script I had been writing for the approaching adventure. No, it didn’t fit at all. Looking back I don’t know how I could have ignored anything as significant as this… but I did.