Window Shopping

by Charlotte Hills.

The man sat looking out of the window, like he did every Sunday. His house was in a little close, leading to a field popular with dog walkers. He timed the intervals between those who passed his house. At least every half an hour somebody dressed in a thick coat, wellington boats and gloves would pass by. Their dogs were usually pulling on their leads. He sighed. There was no control or discipline anymore, not even over mongrels.

At twelve noon, the man made a sandwich and a pot of tea. He didn’t like egg mayonnaise, but it was all he could muster from the poorly stocked fridge. He ate on the wooden table in the corner, and then wiped the whole kitchen down once he had finished. The tea was left brewing for ten minutes, and drunk black with one sugar.

All of this took place within half an hour. After putting away the clean plate and cutlery, he returned to his chair by the window. He wondered how many walkers had passed while he had been eating. He would see them on their walk back, covered in mud and bits of grass. Their appearance was so un-orderly. He wanted to grab them, stand them in front of a mirror and show them what he saw.

An hour later he had seen pass his house two more individual walkers, a couple, and a young family of three. So far nobody had caught his eye.

It was starting to get dark when the doorbell rang. The sound was clipped and had clearly been pressed with the lightest of touch. He had spent a good deal of time selecting the right doorbell. He hated those novelty ones that chimed or played tunes. 

Reluctantly, the man left his gazing spot and went to answer the door. On the other side was a young woman; mid-twenties or a few years older. Her hair was a gold shade of blonde. He deduced that the colour was natural, by inspecting her eyebrows. She hadn’t damaged it with bleach or other chemicals. He smiled at her.

‘Hello Sir. Sorry to disturb you. My name’s Jessica. Would you be interested in adding a conservatory onto your house?’

Her little hands offered him a brochure. Faint blue veins spider-webbed across the back of them, some more prominent because of the cold. Her nails were long and painted red. She could have been a jewellery model for one of those shopping channels.

The man didn’t want a conservatory. His house was big enough already; it was only him who lived there. If he said this however, the woman would leave. He didn’t want that; he couldn’t let her go.

‘Actually, yes I would.’

Jessica smiled. He was sure it was one of relief. She must have been doing this for hours; knocking on people’s doors, getting rejected. Surely she deserved a better job than this. Why was she wasting her life in such a ridiculous way? He would change that.

‘Oh, well, we’ve got a wonderful selection of conservatories, and we’re the cheapest in town. We sell lots of different sizes, shapes, styles. Have you given much thought about what type of conservatory you’d like and where?’ she asked.

‘I was thinking of putting one onto the back of the house. Why don’t you come inside and we can discuss it? You must be freezing.’         

She hesitated for a moment. The man thought this was part of the job she disliked most. She probably didn’t like intruding on other people, which was what she was doing. He thought she must feel bad about going into somebody’s house, on a Sunday (the day of rest), trying to sell them something she probably didn’t believe in herself. Yes, this was definitely the sort of person Jessica was.

She entered his house.

The man led her through to the kitchen and offered her a drink. She chose coffee, something he rarely drank. He didn’t like all the caffeine in it; tea was much more calming. Coffee had the opposite effect. No, he didn’t like it much, but he set about making two cups anyway. Hot drinks, in his opinion, should never be consumed in mugs.

‘So, tell me about yourself,’ he said.

Jessica looked at him with confusion, and ignored the remark. ‘Where were you thinking about putting the conservatory?’

Now that Jessica was inside, he man didn’t care to keep up the pretence of being interested in what she was selling. He wanted to find out everything about her. Still, there would be plenty of time for that; days, weeks, months, even years. She was his now. She was inside his home, sitting at his table. She didn’t know that the front door automatically locked, or where the key for the double glazed windows were. She could scream, but he doubted the neighbours would hear or care.

‘Just outside,’ the man said, waving his hand dismissively.

With the coffee brewed, he slipped a few of his crushed sleeping pills into Jessica’s cup. He couldn’t swallow tablets, and upon receiving them from the pharmacist, he would crush them ready to mix in with his own tea at night. He didn’t add many to her drink; just enough to make her a little drowsy. It wasn’t the first time he had done this, so knew it wouldn’t harm her. He didn’t want to knock her out completely. He wanted to talk to her, to get inside her mind and under her skin.

He set the drinks down on the table. Jessica hadn’t noticed that hers had been altered. She thanked him, took a sip, and opened her brochure on the table. He could tell she was nervous now. He tried pinning her eyes with his gaze, but she avoided it. She seemed to shrink down into the chair, her head bent studying the brochure. She swallowed hard, and he saw her slender throat contract. He imagined pressing his lips to it and curling both hands around the base, just above her collar bone. He wanted to touch every inch of her fair skin, but he knew he wouldn’t. That would spoil and contaminate the very thing he liked about her.

Jessica spoke about conservatories as they drank their coffee. The man allowed her to speak, captivated by the softness of her voice. He nodded when appropriate, but he could tell she had noticed his disinterest.

‘Perhaps I should just leave this with you and you can consider the options,’ said Jessica.

She tried to get up but the man took hold of her arm, trying to apply the minimal amount to pressure. The pills seemed to be taking effect and she didn’t give much struggle.

‘I want you to tell me about yourself. Tell me everything.’

‘I really need to be going,’ she said, and tried to leave again.

This time, the man stood and forced her back into her seat. He moved around to her side of the table, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She began to struggle and yell, but it was useless under his tight grip. He pulled her to her feet, out of the kitchen, and along the hallway to a door at the back of the house. She had stopped screaming and was now whimpering.  

He pushed the door open to reveal a bedroom. The space was very minimal – a bed, a little table and a chest of draws were all that was contained within it. He forced her onto the bed and held her down, trying not to touch anything but her arms.

‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never do that. I just want to talk to you. You look so much like her. Your eyes are the same, you see. She was beautiful too. I know you’d have liked her. She was loved by everyone, but that was the problem. She was so special, and all I wanted was to have her to myself. I just wanted her to be mine.’

His mind flashed back to the night he had caught her; knickers around her ankles, pressed up against his work college. After an hour of shouting and crying, she packed her bags and left. A short while after the divorce papers came through, followed by news of her engagement. He shook as he remembered her betrayal; the thought had consumed and mutilated him over the years.

‘You can be mine.’ He stroked Jessica’s hair, and then whipped away her tears.

‘Please, I just want to go home,’ she said.

‘This is your home. I can give you a much better life here. You’ll never leave me. You’ll love me like I’ll love you.’

Jessica was frozen. She had stopped crying, as if too scared to make a sound. Only a minute ago everything had been fine. Now she was terrified. The man saw all of this; he knew how she was feeling, but she would soon come to realise this was a good thing. A fresh start.

‘You look tired. I’ll let you sleep. After that we can talk,’ said the man.

He let go of her and walked briskly to the door. Jessica staggered up and followed him, but she was too slow. The man bolted the exit before she had chance to get half way there. She was trapped, a prisoner in a stranger’s home.

Ignoring her new shouts, he walked back to the kitchen, cleaned away the mugs and wiped down the kitchen again. He tossed the conservatory brochure into the bin, and sat in silence at the table. He didn’t return to the window in his living room; he had found what he was looking for. A warm feeling descended upon him; he would love this girl, and she would one day love him. It would just take time, and that was something he had an abundance of.

The last woman he had saved had fought for months before accepting her new life. He missed her so much, but she had become ill and there was simply nothing he could do.  Jessica looked more like his wife than the previous woman had. He hoped she would settle in quickly. He wanted her to be happy.

Leaning back in his chair, the man closed his eyes and thought about Jessica. It was destiny that had bought her to his door. She had been sent to him. She was his blessing, and he was going to keep her forever.