Ewan took hold of the blue plastic strap of the flip-flop just in time before he and it, and its partner, were lifted abruptly into the air and carried at great speed to the edge of the beach. Once in the car he was dumped on the back seat with a jolt, and positioned himself on the sole with his back against the strap and, ignoring the two chatty female voices echoing around the car, quietly considered how he’d got here.
He hadn’t expected to wake up again. When he’d felt that last strong undertow pull him under, and the last few painful, panicked breaths taking water into his lungs, he’d willed unconsciousness to come. But here he was, back on shore, the last rays of the sun shimmering across the ocean beyond his feet.
It didn’t feel like the same beach he’d parked up at and left his clothes in a pile on earlier that day. That one had been soft and sandy, whereas this was covered with small crystalline rocks the size of tennis balls. He’d never seen anything like it before.
He’d only made sense of where he was when he’d rolled over and seen his car beyond the edge of the beach still parked up, and then seen the foot of the girl as it landed near him, filling his entire view as it stamped past, leaving deep depressions in what he now realised was sand.
His first thought was that he didn’t want to be left alone here. It was getting dark and cold, and he had no clothes. So he’d ran unsteadily over the sand-grains, reaching the one woman’s shoe just in time to be taken with it.
He felt the car stop and heard the handbrake creak, and jumped down from the flip-flop and into a soft canvas bag that lay open on the car seat. He burrowed into a folded towel that he was disappointed to find was uncomfortably damp. He tunnelled into it out of view and lay still.
After a whirl of motion that made him feel seasick, he felt the bag land with a jolt, then a diminuendo of footsteps away from him. He climbed out of the bag to find himself on the floor of a vast kitchen. Scared of the women’s prompt return, he ran as fast as he could to the end of a row of cupboards, and through a gap at the end of the kickboard.
He found himself in near darkness beneath the cupboards. Here the floor was un-tiled, cold, rough concrete, and dusty. But for now, at least until he worked out what was going on, he’d have to call this home.
Ewan sat for many hours, waiting for nightfall and hopefully for the women to fall asleep so he could explore and get the lay of the place. And ideally something to snack on. At one point he heard footsteps return and he ran to the gap and peered out, to see a pair of barefeet walk around the floor, opening cupboards, drawers and a fridge, take out a number of items and walk back out of the room with them.
Eventually he heard both sets of footsteps come a little closer, and two voices speaking. Then he heard a front door open and shut, and just one set of footsteps walk around, flick off lights with a click, and ascend a distant staircase.
He crept out of the gap and into the kitchen. After the dusty rough floor the tiles felt smooth and luxurious under his bare feet. He looked around the room but couldn’t make out anything above the tall cupboards, taller fridge, and long table legs.
Next to where he had been hiding was a small pedal bin that didn’t smell very welcoming. He hoped he wouldn’t have to hunt in there for something to eat. To the right of that was a wooden back-door with a key in the lock, and a brush at the bottom keeping the air out. Ewan was able to crawl through a gap along the edge of the brush and he stepped out into the night air.
It felt refreshing against his skin, but he also knew he couldn’t stay out there for too long. He walked to the edge of the step and looked down at the stone path below. It was too far for him to jump down without breaking something, so for now at least he would be restricted to the house.
He looked down the garden, lit by an almost full moon overhead. It looked forebodingly long, and he thought he heard the skitter of living things on the ground. Not wanting to encounter anything ugly looking for a quick meal, he crawled back inside, and across the kitchen floor into the hallway.
Here the floor was Victorian tiles in a pattern of terracotta, peach and pale blue, and it ended in the front door, tall and black with a small windows near the top in a half-moon shape. To his left was the staircase he’d heard the feet ascend earlier, and to his right an open door into another room. He could feel a warmth coming from in there that pulled him to it, so he walked quickly along the skirting board, turned right into the doorway, stepping up onto the edging strip that bordered the carpet, and then down onto the soft fibres.
He could feel the warmth much close to him now, and could hear familiar crackle of a wood fire. He started to run again, this time to a sofa that faced away from him, under it, past a pencil, magazine and remote control, and out onto a fluffy rug in front of the welcoming flames. There he lay on his back and took in the comfort of the softness against his back, and the warmth on his front and the soles of his feet.
After a few minutes he sat up and looked around him. The women had obviously been sat here on the rug, as immediately beside it were two empty wine glasses, an empty wine bottle on its side, and a plate containing what was left of a selection of cold meats, cheese and olives.
Ewan leapt to his feet and half ran, half stumbled across the thick pile rug. Once at the plate edge he tried to climb up onto it, but struggled. He ran around it, finding a knife on the edge of the plate with its handle on the carpet. He walked up the cold metal handle like a ramp, then jumped down onto the plate edge. He sat amongst the food and ate as much of it as he could, not knowing when he’d get a good meal again. Once finished he looked at what he’d left, and hoped the owner of this house wouldn’t notice the tiny human bite marks across this one slice of tuscan salami, in that chunk of mozzarella over there, and along one side of a green olive.
Feeling satiated he jumped off the plate back onto the carpet and looked around for something to do next. The magazine he’d spotted under the sofa was three-quarters poking out. It looked like the kind of facile women’s rag he hated, but it would be something to read, if only it wasn’t so dark in here.
Next to the fireplace was a tall freestanding lamp with a black on-off button halfway along its cable. He walked up to the switch and managed to flip it on by standing on it and jumping. Nothing happened. He flipped it the other way—still nothing.
He walked along the wire to where it joined a plug that was inserted into a multi-way on the floor near the wall. The back of the plug was loose and lifted away revealing the wires inside. He could see that the blue neutral wire was disconnected from the left terminal. Knowing it would be impossible to fix with the power switched on, without giving himself a huge electric shock and probably burning him to a crisp, he walked along to the edge of the multi-way strip and jumped on the on-off switch that glowed with a red light. It was harder to turn off than the one on the lamp, but after two or free jumps, during which he drove his feet down as hard as he could, it flipped off.
He returned to the plug and, after tapping the metal of the terminal a couple of times, to see if it would shock him, he loosened the screw by grabbing it with both hands and turning it. He then pulled the blue exposed part of the blue wire into the hole, and turned the screw back as far as he could, using all of the strength in his hands against the ridge in the top of the screw.
Once tightened he put the back of the plug back in place, then returned to the switch and jumped on it, turning the multi-way back on. He was relieved that there wasn’t a minor explosion, or sparks from the plug.
He walked over to the on-off switch for the lamp and jumped on it. The room burst into light, and he bounced from side to side on the switch in little dance, flipping the light off then on again.
He spent the next hour reading, then as he felt his eyes start to close, he rolled himself under the sofa and slept there, a blunt pencil his only companion.
His dreams were stressful; creditors chasing him for insurmountable debts, taking his belongings, his home, his wife, his business, his kids. Finally coming for the car, but him driving off in it into the distance towards a bright horizon, free of all shackles.
He was woken by a voice. “No I’m telling you, this lamp hasn’t worked for months. That’s why we couldn’t have it on last night. But I’ve come down this morning and it’s not just working, but it’s switched on. It’s creepy, Jacqui.”
The voice disappeared out of the room, and he heard the conversation continuing up the stairs. Shortly after he heard the sound of a shower turn on, and he knew it was safe to crawl out from under the sofa and out into the living room. It was brightly lit by the morning sun, the lamp was now turned off, and the fire, now down to cinders, was still glowing and giving off its warmth.
The food was still there from the night before so he helped himself to another quick meal. Getting up he saw that there was a vase of yellow carnations next to the fire. They were beautiful, but a few petals and leaves, and one full flower-head had fallen onto the fireplace and were lying, dead, dry and brown there.
Feeling some need to earn his keep after two hearty meals, he started to kick the dried flower-parts into pile near to the fire. Once they were gathered there he picked up each one in turn, formed it into a ball in his hand and threw it up and into the fire. He had to pull the flower head apart to dispose of it, as it was too large to handle intact, being as wide as he was tall. After ten minutes every dead part of the carnations was burned and the fireplace was clean. Ewan stood and appraised his work. Having made this woman’s home just a little nicer gave him a satisfaction, and oddly a feeling of purpose that had long been missing from his life.
Hearing the shower stop, and the sound of feet on linoleum on the floor upstairs, Ewan walked quickly to the far wall of the living room, and found a comfortable spot to sit behind the floor-length curtain that covered the front window. There he considered what other tasks he could complete for this unknowing woman…
To be continued...