Stuffed

David tapped on the door with the back of his hand. Doorbells were so impersonal.

They also left fingerprints

For a moment he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard. He inspected his ID tag briefly. He considered knocking again and toyed with the idea of moving on. Then inside, he noticed a shape shifting in and out of focus through the textured glass of the door panel.

David straightened himself and put on his most sincere smile. The door cautiously opened an inch or two. A pair of horn-rimmed spectacles attached to the face of a woman with long hair the colour of curb side snow peered around the doorframe. She wasn’t as old as he’d expected. Or at least he didn’t think she was. There were the deep etchings of age, certainly, but they seemed somehow out of place, without the porcelain transparency of ageing skin. Her face was pointed, not sagging, sharp even, with a prominent chin. And her eyes.

David made a point of paying attention to eyes: they were often the first warning sign. In his experience with the elderly, age seemed to fog eyes and make their owners peer out as if looking through a frosted window. But hers were, deep brilliant green.

It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place who. He continued with expertly learned poise.

“ Good afternoon-“ started David, “I’m from –“

“Max?” Said the woman.

David paused for a second. He didn’t like being interrupted, especially by an old woman who should know better. A careful observer, skilled at these sorts of things would have seen a flash of anger dart across his face, quick and transitory as the shadow of a dragonfly crossing a tranquil pond.

“Sorry, Madam, I’m here on behalf of Open Broadband. We hear you’re having trouble with your connection.”

She looked at him and blinked briefly. David checked his clipboard. Had he got her details correct? That was the trouble with the dark web: you couldn’t trust anyone.

“It’s Mrs Higginson, isn’t it?”

It actually said ‘Miss’ on his notes. She didn’t correct him. Her eyes appeared to change focus slightly.

“Of course. Silly me. I know why you’re here. Yes that’s it. ”

“May I come in?”

“Yes, yes.”

She opened the door fully and he strolled across the threshold.

 Just like that.

“Your router…er, your telephone line. Could you show me-?”

“In the living room.” She said, kindly, and indicated a door on the right. He briefly looked at his surroundings before he went in. The house was even bigger on the inside than he had expected. It had quite an old fashioned, crumpled feel to it, though, he noted, it was well looked after. Unlike many of those he visited, this one obviously still had the wherewithal to clean and tidy. Even a place as big as this. Something to bear in mind, he thought.

She opened a door and indicated he should go through. He went in and turned round to tell her she didn’t need to wait for him only to discover she had already gone. He paused and looked around. The room was fairly light, the furnishings weren’t modern, but didn’t feel old fashioned. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of a woman – women? -- in various locations, in decades, some long gone. Her mother, maybe even grandmother some of them, they all had that striking face though the photos portrayed them in colour, black and white and sepia. Ancient monuments that he recognised from various aspirational lifestyle magazines stood in the background, and a myriad of what appeared to be manservants or butlers, by their appearance and demeanour. No partner though, which said a lot about the relationship her parents --grandparents? – must have had

“What you want?”

The deep male voice would have been enough to visibly startle David several years ago, but today’s David was one of considerable experience. He turned with an expectant smile on his face. David was nothing if not charming.

“Hi, I’m David. You must be –“

In the beat of the hyphen David deconstructed the person in front of him:

·        thin build

·        Tall

·        Grey, cropped, balding.

·        Smartly dressed, loose fit, old suit.

·        Accent: Polish? Romanian?

·        Age: difficult. Possibly sixties.

·        Eyes…unusual.

·        No wedding ring

Miss Higginson was single, with no dependents. The accent ruled out siblings or offspring. Without marriage the surname ruled out extended family from Eastern Europe.

David played it safe.

“-neighbour?”

The man stared at David.

“Get out.” It sounded strangely unlike a threat, David thought. Not even an instruction.

David smiled even harder and was about to reply when his pocket buzzed. He took out his mobile. The girl from the previous evening. Samantha?

-Are we still on for later? x.

 He quickly rapped off a reply.

-Wouldn’t miss it for the world. :)

Which was mostly true. Not bad looking, he supposed. Not much in the conversation stakes, but he could save money if he found a free bed for the night in this new town. The text had also given him valuable thinking time.

“Caleb!”

 Miss Higginson’s voice was stern, unforgiving. 

“Leave Max alone.”

Caleb continued to stare at David, a look that David could not discern on his face. David noticed how Caleb’s eyes never quite seemed to focus on him as if he was struggling to see through an alcoholic stupor.

“Caleb. Now.” 

Caleb didn’t move.

“Do you want dinner or not?”

Caleb turned sluggishly to look at her. His eyes seemed to focus for just a split second. David was good at reading faces and the previously unfathomable features of Caleb, in a matter of milliseconds, went through three distinct stages: hatred, resolve, defeat. Miss Higginson, for her part, remained as hard, cold and unmoved as an anvil.

Caleb turned and left.

Miss Higginson turned to David. In the process her face shifted to one of friendly welcoming.

“It’s chicken tonight, Max. Your favourite.”

David paused for a second. Was she offering him… well, Max, dinner? This was an unfamiliar situation. Not to mention a possibly hazardous: it was unwise to spend any more time than he needed here.

 But it would guarantee him a few undisturbed minutes while she was in the kitchen.

And he never turned down a free lunch.

“Sounds lovely” He said.

She smiled once more and left the room. He hadn’t even needed to explain he couldn’t find her router.

He counted to five under his breath.

His smile melted away and he went looking around the room. He liked to challenge himself by seeing if he could spot exactly the right spot straightaway. After so many years, it helped keep the job interesting. An old darkwood bureau seemed to call to him. Second drawer from the top, he thought; high enough to avoid too much bending, but not the most frequently accessed.

He opened it.

And frowned.

Some important documents, but not enough on their own. He rummaged around, his fingers doing much of the searching. There was the familiar feel of a passport. He took his phone out and snapped the ID page before returning it to the drawer and continuing. His fingers hit a plastic card. He fished it out. A driving licence. With Caleb’s photo on it. It bore the flag of Poland in one corner and he understood none of the writing, but one thing that struck him was that nothing on it said ‘Caleb’ or a name that could conceivably be its origin. Why the hell did she have his driving licence anyway? There was a date on it, presumably his date of birth, but it made him a lot younger than he looked. A hard life had evidently aged him. The photo showed a slightly threatening, stocky face that did not seem a warm home for a smile to reside. The old man who had told him to leave was wiry, gaunt even, and the threat in the eyes had been replaced by a muddled apathy.

He looked again in the drawer. This time he found an ID badge in English. It had that same photo of a Polish bruiser, but the name was now easily identifiable: Pawel. He checked the driving licence. That name appeared nowhere on there. The ID was around fifteen years old: it bore the previous incarnation of the British Gas logo on it. David found it unlikely that it was legitimate. He liked to think of himself as an expert on these things.

David heard a floorboard just beyond the door creak. He calmly replaced the items and shut the drawer purposefully; if you do something as if you’re meant to be doing it, everyone seems to think it’s your business.

“Max? Are you coming through or not?”

The smell hit him a second later.

The warm, greasy embrace of roast potatoes first. Chicken. Butter. Bacon, crisp, with just an edge of charcoal. A subtle kiss of sage, thyme, rosemary.

His phone buzzed in his pocket again

-When & where?

“Er yes, sorry.”

-8? Ladies choice.

Miss Higginson had left the room already.

The home was big (how did she manage to keep it clean?) but he could follow his nose. 

He went through a long corridor, rooms leading off, and through a pale wooden door at the end. The table was laid for what appeared to be a meal excessive for two.

A chicken, whole, skin shimmering and golden, flecked with charred herbs and stuffed with half a singed lemon. A bowl of roast potatoes stood honour guard next to it, the deep brown ridges leading to fluffed ochre sides. Fresh garden, peas glistened with butter and interspersed with blackened, crisp small chunks of bacon. Carrots, parsnips and onion roasted to the point where their skins had turned to darker hue.

“Oh please don’t stand on account of me, dear.”

David slipped without thinking into his seat. She stood over him and purposefully spooned the peas onto his plate steam still rising from them. He could see a small amount of melting butter between creeping down the shoulders of the newly-formed green mound. This was followed by four potatoes carefully plucked from the bowl, delicately thunking on the porcelain and a generous helping of the charred vegetables in their caramel glow.

She picked up the knife and began to slice the chicken. It’s skin made a soft, satisfying crack as the knife broke through, clear juice rolling down the blade. 

It was then that he noticed Caleb through the arch of the doorway. He was staring intently at the feast, on edge like a semi-trained dog that been told to sit while a squirrel played in the distance.

“ I hope you’re not thinking about taking any of this” She said without looking from her work. There was not a gram of affection in her voice.

“Done the floors.” He said. Indeed, there was a dripping mop in his hand.

“And the washing?”

She inquired with the air of primary school headmistress.

He nodded.

She stopped and for the first time looked at him.

“Very well. Here.”

He half shuffled, half stumbled towards her and stood right next to David. Only then did he notice, how emaciated he looked. He stood in front of her swaying slightly.

“Very well.” She said. She cut a thin slice of the meat, thin enough that you could almost see the light through it and placed it carefully on a small side plate. This was followed by a piece of potato. And half a carrot.

 He paused. Looked at David for a second with eyes that conveyed a message he couldn’t quite read. Then he got down on his knees, there was no chair, and using his hands, nibbled slowly on the chicken, eyes closed. The tiny serving of potato and carrot followed in similar fashion. It must have taken him a full five minutes to consume what David could have easily done in two mouthfuls.

With little ceremony she popped a sliver of chicken in his mouth.

He waited.

“What?”

He looked at her.

“That’s it for now.”

For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then, as if his eyes could not bear looking into a bright light any longer, he bowed his head.

He stood up, the effort almost seemed beyond him. Caleb looked once more at David. Then left.

David’s gaze lingered on the door as it closed behind Caleb. When he turned back, Miss Higginson had already sat down and there was a glass of white wine next to his plate with condensation around the bowl.

“Please.” She motioned.

David had learned long ago that the best way to handle an awkward situation was to pretend it wasn’t happening, so he politely picked up his knife and fork and put a piece of chicken in his mouth.

The world seemed to fall away.

For the briefest of moments he was in his grandmother’s small kitchen: the light blue cupboards fronted by red gingham curtains, the worktops freckled grey plastic covered fibreboard, the tiles with poorly painted fruit and vegetable bowls. His grandmother’s face was smiling as she turned to slide him his plate and he tucked into his special weekend treat: leftover chicken and stuffing sandwiches in thick white crusty bread. He realised he would do anything to stay in that moment forever.

Then he was back in the dining room. But for the first time in his adult life he felt … full.

His phone buzzed

-Hello?x

He paused for a second. The phone seemed out of place. For a moment he couldn’t remember what it was for.

“Max? Phone away please.”

“Sorry.”

He continued to eat. Every mouthful was a tragedy because it had to end, but he lightened his mood with the wine: clean, crisp, citrus.

The second glass made him more conversational.

“You keep this house very clean.” He ventured.

“Thank you. But cleaning’s not my thing. Man’s work, if you ask me.”

“So-?“

“ Caleb, yes. Cooking’s really my gift. You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.” She winked at him. “Still. He’s getting on a bit. I’ll have to replace him soon.” She smiled at him.

Too soon his plate was empty. She looked at him.

“Tell you what, Max. You clear away these dishes and wash up and I’ll get you some dessert.”

David didn’t easily do the washing up for himself, let alone for … but he did want dessert.

“Sure.” He said.

In the kitchen he would have noticed that all the cupboards had a combination lock, but his mind was somewhere else. He was sure he was supposed to be doing something.

When he came back, the dessert was somehow waiting for him. It was smaller than he’d hoped: chocolate fudge cake. After one taste he realised that if he could make that the last thing that ever passed his lips, he would.

“Right. Well, I’d better…”

“Really, Max?” She smiled at him again. He was sure that there was something-

“But your room’s all ready.” Mrs Higginson continued. “And there’s breakfast tomorrow.”

Breakfast?

“And if you could see your way to doing one or two things for me as well..”

“Well, I really should be…”

Breakfast.

“Where…where’s the room?”

“Where it’s always been, Max: upstairs first on the left.” She smiled… sweetly?

Of course it was. David wandered out and ambled upstairs, though he wasn’t sure why.

He went into the first room on the left and closed the door behind him

Miss Higginson heard the door upstairs click and then behind her another one open. She sighed and turned. Caleb was in the doorway again, looking almost hurt.

“ Oh don’t take it personally Caleb.” Some softness entered her voice for the first time. “You all have to be replaced some time.”

Upstairs, David lay on an old single bed, a slight smile smeared loosely on his face. Some part of his brain echoed in the background, a shout just out of earshot. His phone buzzed. In the stupor of semi sleep, he looked at the screen.

-Are you OK, David? X

But for Max, the words carried as much meaning as overheard whispers in a foreign country. He switched it off.

 Max slowly drifted into sleep. And he dreamed of the next meal.