Someone to Watch over Me


He was there again this morning. Every morning for a fortnight he's been on the corner, watching. I'm not going mad, he really is there. Every day, all day, or so it seems. Anyway, every time I pass by he's there. I leave the house at 8.30, home again by 5.30, or sometimes not until 6 depending on the buses. And he's there. What does he do, hang about and wait for half an hour? He never speaks or tries to attract my attention. He doesn't try to hide either. Not that there's anywhere to hide on that windy corner. He must freeze when those cold gusts come tearing along the avenue.


This evening he was facing away from me, hands in his pockets, almost like he didn't care. I was half-way down the path before he turned round. Nearly missed me, I had to bend down to fix my shoe and sure enough he was facing me by the time I stood up. ‘Do you want me?’ I put the question politely, no point in getting his back up. ‘Er, no, err… yes.’ He raised his shoulders, hands in his pockets and made an


apologetic little moue with his mouth. ‘Well either you do or you don’t.’ His lack of confidence boosted mine and I took


charge of the situation. I’m good in a crisis. When people are flummoxed it’s me they turn to. Josephine will know what to do, they say. ‘Is it this house you are wanting, number 41, because we’ve only lived here six


months, maybe it’s the previous tenant you’re after?’ ‘Could be, you see I used to live here and sort of left something behind but now I’m


in need of it.’ ‘Couldn’t have been that urgent.’ I was almost brusque. He was getting on my nerves


standing there, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his body leaning towards me. ‘Aah, well, I’ve been out of circulation so to speak, in this neck of the woods at least.


I’ve been away if you get my meaning.’ ‘No. I don’t.’ I was positively rude and didn’t care. This man was seriously starting to


annoy me. ‘I left it in the shed, could I look? Only take a minute, it means a lot to me.’ He took a step forward as he spoke and instinctively I took a step back. I’d read


about the hairs on the back of people’s necks prickling, but never actually experienced it – well now I did. Up close, the man was pasty faced with wishy-washy eyes and nondescript features, and he had a smell. Made me wrinkle my nose. Cleaning fluid, the kind that catches the back of your throat, Jeyes fluid, something like that.


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