landing, which is a long corridor with a

  window at the end. It looks out onto the

  garden and woodland behind. There are two

  10

  doors to my left and one to my right. The first

  door is a toilet. The door on the right opens

  onto a bedroom. As I look in, there’s a single

  bed with toys scattered across the floor. I shut

  the door and look to the last bedroom.

  This is the biggest bedroom. It has a double

  bed but the wallpaper could definitely benefit

  from a change from its wet tea bag look to

  something a bit more appealing. The big

  window looks out onto the back garden and

  the trees.

  I turn my back to the bed, face the window,

  stretch out my arms like I’m Jesus Christ, and

  fall backwards onto the bed. It’s nice and

  spongy. I like this bed; I’ll definitely be

  sleeping here.

  I head back downstairs to pick up my

  rucksack and begin to unpack.

  As I reach my new bedroom, I lose the

  willingness to unpack, so instead I just throw

  the rucksack on the bed and leave, feeling like

  a lazy teenager.

  I go to the kitchen and place my mug next to

  the kettle. I pull the keys out from my pocket

  and unlock the back door to go into the

  garden. I step outside into the fine English

  summer and look at the grass. To the right is a

  brown shed matching the fences, I can smell

  paint carried on the light breeze. The wooden

  fences border the garden; the end of the

  garden is wire fencing with a wooden gate half

  way along the fence. I walk right to the end of

  the garden and look back to the house; it

  11

  looks just as good here as it does at the front.

  Simon has done a good job.

  I go around to the front of the house. It’s so

  quiet here, the only noise being the occasional

  muffled park sounds. I look at the

  neighbours’ homes again, Simon’s home, then

  to the neglected house at the dead-end and

  then to the houses that are identical to mine.

  As I stare, the realisation sinks in that the

  most activity in this cul-de-sac are my eyes,

  moving around, until Simon’s front door

  swings open. Out steps a woman with golden

  curls bouncing as she jogs toward me. She has

  a good physique; her tight crop-top shows her

  slender shoulders. She crosses the road and

  runs up my gravel path.

  Out of breath, she says: “Hi there. I’m

  Sandra, Simon’s wife, nice to meet you.”

  “Hi, I’m Ryan Milligan,”

  “Yeah, I know who you are. Simon didn’t

  realise that you’re an author. We’ve both read

  some of your novels, they’re always very

  good.”

  “Why, thank you very much.” She seems very

  nice, Simon is lucky to have her; she’s not just

  a pretty face.

  “I was wondering, would you like to come

  round tonight for dinner, or maybe

  tomorrow? I understand if you don’t want to,

  but it would be great to get to know you, we

  are neighbours now after all”

  Dinner already? These two are either really friendly

  or just creepy stalkers. “Dinner would be great,” I

  reply.

  12

  “Oh, brilliant, I’ll tell Simon the good news.

  What do you like, anything in particular?”

  “I’m not fussy, Mrs Cann, What were you

  thinking of cooking?”

  “Oh please, call me Sandra. Actually, it’s

  Sandy, call me Sandy.”

  “Okay, Sandy.” She is either a big fan or a suck

  up.

  “Well, I was thinking some pasta? Do you

  like pasta?”

  “Yeah, sure do.”

  “Brilliant, Bolognese good for you?”

  “Bolognese would be lovely.”

  “Great, well I’ll leave you to do whatever

  you’re doing. When do you want dinner,

  tonight?”

  “Whenever suits you two, I’m free tonight

  and tomorrow.”

  “Tonight would be best.”

  “Okay sure. See you both tonight.”

  “Great, see you later.” She turns and runs

  down the slope and across the road. She

  pauses on the grass outside her house and

  tracks to her right to walk up the drive and to

  her front door.

  She seems really nice; they both seem like a

  happy and kind couple. They will definitely be

  a good pair to get friendly with. I’ll be able to

  rely on them, if need be.

  I walk back into the house and pick my

  laptop off the floor. I then go into the

  kitchen, unzip the bag and take out the laptop

  and its charger. I find a plug socket under the

  table where I plug in my laptop to charge it.

  13

  I’ll take a quick look at the news, my emails

  and my author blog and then get ready for

  tonight.

  14

  The Cann's

  With spam emails and no interesting news, I

  close my laptop and go upstairs to find

  something to wear tonight.

  I pause in the doorway of my room and look

  at my rucksack on the bed. With a sigh, I walk

  toward the bed, but bypass the rucksack.

  I stand at the window, staring into the

  garden. This seems like a familiar occurrence,

  looking out on this view; the grass, the

  fencing, the trees.

  Sighing once again, I go back to the bed and

  unzip the rucksack. I pull out my collection of

  white, grey, and black shirts, along with my

  black, red, and blue ties and my black

  trousers. I place all the clothing on the bed

  and look to the wardrobe. I open it to find

  some plastic hangers and begin to hang my

  shirts up in the wardrobe.

  After the exhausting job of unpacking, I

  come to the conclusion that I will wear the

  clothes I have had on today. Luckily, I have a

  white shirt and black trousers on, so at least I

  look half decent.

  I go to the chest of drawers opposite my bed

  and pick up my Calvin Klein aftershave. I

  squirt my neck and my fingertips. As I slap

  my face with my fingertips, my face stings a

  little, thanks to my shave this morning.

  I find the three bottles of whiskey I packed

  at the bottom of my rucksack.

  15

  “Least I’ll be able to sleep tonight.” I say out

  loud.

  I pick one of the bottles up and look at the

  packaging. I hope Simon and Sandra like Jack

  Daniels.

  As I walk downstairs, in the open hallway,

  there’s a mirror hanging on the wall to the

  right of the door. I’ve been so distracted that I

  haven’t even noticed the mirror until now.

  I stand in front of the mirror, alter my collar

  and pull my shirt down, tucking it further into

  my trousers.

  I pull a false smile and mouth a ‘hello’

  followed by a ‘how are you’. I stop smiling

  and stare at my neutral expression. I lean in

  toward my face and tilt my head.

  “More wrinkles, more grey.” I sigh and place

  my hands on my stomach. “And a beer belly,

  God I’m getting old.”

  I stare at my combed-over fringe and see a

  streak of grey; I use my fingertips in an

  attempt to cover the strays. I strum my

  fringe like I’m playing a guitar sideways; the

  grey strands gradually become camouflaged

  within my dark brown hair.

  I turn away from the mirror and open the

  front door. As I do, the chilled night breeze

  slithers under my shirt and caresses my skin. I

  step out of the house into the cold night air

  and lock the front door.

  The cul-de-sac looks as peaceful as it did

  during the day. Not like I was expecting it to

  become a ghetto during the night or anything.

  Ha.

  16

  I walk down the path of my drive and stand

  on the pavement. I check left and right for

  cars, and begin to cross the road.

  Suddenly, there’s a loud banging sound

  coming from my left. What the hell’s that? I

  pause in the middle of the road and look to

  the grubby house at the end of the road. I

  can just about make out a dark figure using a

  slab of wood to hit, what sounds like,

  something metal. He stops and turns around

  to meet my curiosity with a glare. He tosses

  the piece of wood aggressively onto the road,

  which makes a sharp, hollow sound that

  echoes around the cul-de-sac.

  I stare at the man. He wears a long green and

  black patchy jacket, which hangs shapelessly

  above his black, moss-encrusted boots. His

  face and head are smothered by a grey beard

  and long, greasy grey hair. His beady eyes look

  me up and down. His tiny claw-like hands

  clench. He walks away from his house

  towards me and stands on the pavement. He

  doesn’t blink or take his eyes away from mine

  for a second.

  Limping back to his house, he slants from

  left to right checking over his shoulder as he

  unlocks the door. He opens the door, steps

  into his house and stands in the doorway,

  staring back at me for a moment and slams

  the door shut.

  “What the…” I say out loud.

  I feel uneasy as I walk towards the Cann’s

  home, still looking at the odd house on the

  street. I see the curtains twitch. I pause again,

  17

  straining my eyes to see the grubby house. I

  stand on the pavement outside the Cann’s

  home, and continue to stare. The curtain

  twitches again, and the front door slowly

  opens. It stops opening and the feeling of

  someone watching me makes the hair on my

  neck stand.

  All of a sudden, a fox runs out and the front

  door slams shut and makes me jump.

  I begin to take cautious steps in the direction

  of the house.

  “Hey, Ryan!” comes a shout from the Cann’s,

  making me turn quickly.

  “Simon,” I say, relieved.

  “Hello. Come on in. What you staring it?”

  “Oh, I saw a fox.”

  I walk up the drive and tread on the corner of

  the lawn. Simon looks in horror as my shoe

  flicks some dirt onto the path to his house.

  Simon comes away from the doorway to

  shake my hand.

  “You know how to make me jump don’t

  you?” I say jokingly.

  “Sorry for startling you again, buddy.”

  Simon keeps a hold of my hand while leaning

  to flick the dirt back onto the lawn.

  “Go right in Ryan, make yourself at home.”

  I walk into the house, still holding my bottle

  of Jack Daniels. The house has a different

  layout to any other house I’ve seen. I see the

  kitchen to my right. Four poles stand out to

  me; they come out from the ground and reach

  to the ceiling. They’re positioned around the

  kitchen and throughout the whole lower floor.

  18

  There are no walls separating the rooms, just

  the pillars. I assume they must be where the

  walls used to be.

  Next to the kitchen is the dining room, it’s

  linked with the sitting room to complete this

  lower floor. The spiral staircase reaches up

  through the ceiling in the middle of the room.

  Sandra is lighting a candle in the middle of

  the table, which has three plates and three sets

  of cutlery.

  She wears a black dress, the hem floats just

  above her knees. Her hair is straight and has a

  golden glow to it. She turns around and smiles

  as she sees me.

  “Hello Ryan,” she says as she walks up to me,

  wrapping her arms around me. “It’s lovely to

  see you, hope you like my cooking tonight.”

  “I’m sure I will, Sandy, don’t worry about

  that. Thank you for inviting me round for

  tonight.”

  “That’s no problem at all. Si and I wanted to

  meet you and get to know you. You seem like

  a lovely guy.”

  “Thank you.”

  Simon walks in from outside and shuts the

  door.

  “Ryan, do you want a drink?”

  “Yes, please. Oh that reminds me, I have

  some whiskey here. I know it’s not the normal

  bottle to bring round as a gift to the hosts but

  that’s all I had, hope you both like JD.”

  Simon and Sandra both laugh.

  “That’s very kind, I like whiskey. We’ll have

  to crack it open later on.” Simon says.

  19

  “I like whiskey too, but only with Coke. Diet

  Coke of course.” Sandra laughs.

  “We have wine, Champagne and whiskey,

  what do you fancy?” Simon says.

  “Oh err.”

  “Sit down buddy.” Simon interrupts me and

  walks into the kitchen.

  I walk to the neatly presented table and ask:

  “So where do you want me?”

  “Sit wherever Ryan. What do you want to

  drink?” Sandra asks.

  “I’ll just have what you two are having

  thanks.”

  “Okay, bear with me; I have to go dish up.

  There’s wine on the table if you want it, just

  help yourself, it’s been opened.”

  Sandra walks into the kitchen and I help

  myself to wine. They can’t be used to having

  guests round; they seem a bit nervous. Sandra

  looks nice, though. Simon is dressed the same

  as me so that’s reassuring.

  He walks back into the room holding two

  glasses of whiskey with ice cubes in each glass.

  “I got us boys some whiskey. Down that wine

  Ryan, we’ll stick to the whiskey, shall we?”

  “Yeah sure.” I knock my head back and gulp

  the wine. I put the glass aside and Simon

  places a glass of whiskey in front of me.

  “Good lad. I just find wine bitter sometimes.

  It doesn’t beat whiskey on the rocks.”

  “I know what you mean there,” I say.

  “The house you were staring at earlier, you

  met the guy or seen him yet?” Simon says.

  20

  “No, I haven’t met him yet but I did see him.

  Funny looking chap. Scruffy, a bit like a

  tramp.”

  “Yeah that’s him. He’s not all there I don’t

  think. We moved to Mulberry Lane about

  twenty years ago and he’s been here as long as

  we have. When we came to see the house, his

  house wasn’t so grubby, but he did come out

  to see us. Spoke about Mulberry Lane and

  how much it’s changed. He seemed a nice

  guy, just a little odd and over-friendly. He’s a

  curtain-twitcher, always looking out, watching

  people.”

  “That’s not such a bad thing, though.”

  “Well yeah, that’s true.” Simon takes a sip

  from his glass and gasps and licks his lips.

  “Tastes good. He had some trouble with

  some kids before. He ended up punching one

  of them. There were three kids, they were

  shouting and throwing stuff at his house. He

  came charging out and took them all on. They

  never came back and the police got involved.

  Did feel sorry for the guy.”

  “Has he always been alone?”

  “Yeah, since we’ve been here, he’s lived on

  his own. Never seen anyone come visit.”

  “Poor guy,” I say sympathetically.

  “Yeah, he did tell me that his wife died and

  then he lost his son; I didn’t dare ask how. He

  seemed emotional about the subject.”

  “Here we are,” Sandra says as she enters the

  room holding two plates.

  She puts a plate in front of me and one in

  front of Simon.

  21

  “Eat up boys. I’ll be back in a second.”

  “Thanks Sandy,” I say.

  Simon begins to eat straight away, but I wait

  for Sandra.

  After a minute or so she walks in holding her

  plate, smiling. She sits down and picks up her

  cutlery.

  “How is it Si?” Sandra asks Simon.

  “It’s real good,” he replies.

  “How about you, Ryan?”

  “Oh it tastes great, thank you” I say.

  Even though I haven’t started eating it yet, I

  can tell that it will taste good just looking at

  the deep red sauce and the big homemade

  meatballs. I take my first mouthful of

  spaghetti.

  “It’s so delicious, Sandy.” I say.

  “Oh thank you, I’m so relieved you like it.”

  “You may have to make me a massive pot to