The Doll's House

15

He didn’t like the look of this guy. Not one little bit.

The man had come to the door cursing, reeking displeasure. He was sweating and seemed keen to avoid eye contact, as if visitors were somehow contagious. When he did eventually look up, his expression was full of suspicion, as if the courier were here to rob him, rather than deliver the goods that he had ordered.

The courier held out the package and asked the man to sign for it. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder, curious to see what sort of hole this guy inhabited. It was a bombsite. Broken furniture, cardboard boxes, dustsheets, discarded pizza boxes. The tall Victorian property had presumably once been a rich gent’s townhouse; now it was a stinking hovel. The courier jumped at the sight of a rat scurrying out from among the pizza boxes.

He raised his gaze to find the man staring right at him. His piercing aquamarine eyes silently chastized him for his nosiness.

‘Goodbye,’ the man said, offering an abortion of a smile. Always polite, for once the courier didn’t respond, simply turning and hurrying away, as the front door shut firmly behind him.

Inside the house, the man listened to the van depart, peeking through the dirty curtains to check that he had really gone. Then, sweeping some old newspapers off the sideboard, he set the box down. Ripping off the tape that bound the lid together, he delved inside. He had cursed himself for his stupidity, for his oversight, but the precious contents of this box would rectify matters.

And his new friend would thank him for it.