You meant it for evil - 02 by Maeryn Lamonte I hadn’t been walking long when a car slowly drew alongside me. Silver grey, a mid-range BMW and quite new; I guess no sense in wondering what this guy wanted. I closed my eyes and squeezed out a tear. And why not? I had to eat, to buy warmer, smarter clothes. If this guy was prepared to pay me enough to do that, what was the harm of letting him poke about for a few minutes? Somewhere deep inside I felt a part of me die. “Hello sweet-cheeks. How about a little bit of action?”

-oOo-
Wait, what the hell? Phil?

I glanced over at the car, right into the face of my inanely grinning former best mate. I was not going to get jiggy with him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He turned belligerent.

“What the hell reason do you have to be asking me a question like that?”

Yeah Ken, what reason?

“Er, it’s just that erm, just that I saw you with someone a few nights back. Over at Café Emm I think it was.”

I’d eaten there with Phil and Sharon on Wednesday. As I said, the best lie is the truth.

“What makes you think she was my girlfriend?”

“Well she sure as hell wasn’t with the other guy.”

Phil laughed at that.

“You’re right there. Well what the ol’ girl don’t know won’t hurt her.”

How had I ever missed that he was this much of a douche-bag? Hang on maybe there was a way I could come out on top here.

“Maybe someone should tell her then.”

“Yeah, that would be more of a threat if you actually knew who she was, wouldn't it you stupid cow?”

I stopped walking, forcing him to yank on his brakes and reverse up a little bit.

“Let me see what was it? Sharon I think I heard you call her, an’ I seen her comin’ out of them solicitors on Shaftsbury Avenue? I think I could find her easy enough.”

Phil was thinking furiously, going through his options. I needed to keep him off balance and push through to a deal before he came up with a plan of his own. I started walking again and it took him a moment or two to sort out his gears and pull alongside. I made a guesstimate as to how much he would be prepared to right off, swung nonchalantly around a lamppost and made my pitch.

“You know I get really forgetful after I’ve had a good meal and a night in a warm bed. If I had say a hundred quid I’d most likely wake up tomorrow with no idea I’d seen you tonight.”

“You’re off your rocker you are.”

“Not so much, I’m sure Sharon wouldn’t mind handing over a few bob to find out what you been up to. Only she probably wouldn’t pay quite as much as that, so what do you say?”

“You’d go and tell her anyway.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t, but if you ain’t gonna believe me then there’s no point us talking is there?”

I walked on picking up speed. This street was still dark and deserted enough that he might decide to do something really stupid and I wanted to be in running distance of a more public place if he did come up with his own plan.

A stream of profanity poured from the car’s open window.

“All right, take your tossing money and make sure you keep your gob shut about this or I’ll come looking for you.”

He waved a handful of twenties at me and hit the accelerator as soon as I’d snatched them from him. By the time I’d counted the notes he had turned the corner and was gone.

I slipped the money where no gentlemen and few sleazebags would have the guts to look and pushed on towards the main street. The lights of a nearby mall were beckoning me and with luck I should be able to find a charity shop inside before they closed for the day. With some shops already putting up their shutters, my priority was to find somewhere I could buy a few less provocative clothes. After that I’d think about food and shelter.

-oOo-
I was lucky, there was a charity shop a short way into the mall and I managed to duck in just as the shopkeeper was reaching for the open/closed sign.

“I’m sorry dear, I was just going to close up.”

“Oh please missus, it’s flippin’ freezin’ out there. I got some money, I just need a few warm things. I won’t be ten minutes.”

I pulled the banknotes out of my bra to show her, which act of desperation, along with the pleading look in my eyes, was enough to persuade her.

I hunted through the racks at speed. There weren’t any jeans or trousers even nearly in my size, but I did find a knee length red dress in heavier material and a black jacket that went quite well with it. I ducked into a changing room to try them on and, took the opportunity to change underwear, still unsure of what my night’s accommodation would be. I was pleased with the fit and the look and decided to keep them on, although the boots didn’t look quite right so I swapped them for a pair of less warm but more comfortable pumps.

I stuffed the clothes I’d been wearing along with the boots in to my shoulder bag, now bulging obscenely, and stepped out of the cubical. On my way to pay I also found a fairly non-descript black skirt — also knee length, a white silk blouse and a thick black cardigan which might do for work or interview clothes.

I’m not sure if the shopkeeper was being kind to me, but I ended up with change from twenty pound note and left the shop feeling very pleased with myself. I’d thought about asking for directions to a nearby eatery, but I wanted carbohydrates, protein and grease and wasn’t sure if I’d end up with the right advice. Instead I was studying one of the mall’s map displays for something Mac Kentucky Fired Burger Kingish when someone yelled in my general direction across the empty hallway.

“That’s her officer, that’s the girl who stole my money.”

It was Phil again with a couple of beat cops in tow. Obviously I had underestimated his threshold for belligerence. Running now would confirm my guilt so I kept on examining the map. My dim reflection in the glass surface was not wholly unpresentable; my hair was a bit of a rats nest after a day wandering around the grubbier parts of London, but the dress and jacket looked quite presentable. I turned towards the approaching men and took a couple of deep breaths to still my nerves.

“I’m sorry to bother you miss but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.”

The older of the two policemen was taking the lead here with Phil standing behind them with the smuggest of grins plastered over his face. I stared him straight in the eyes and mustered what courage I had

“Oh bollox not you again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry officer, not you. I was talking about him. He propositioned me a while back. Wouldn’t take no for an answer either.”

The policemen turned towards Phil with a look of suspicious enquiry.

“Oh come on, you’re going to take her word over mine? She has a hundred quid of mine, unless she already spent it.”

“And exactly how am I supposed to have got my hands on your money?”

“All right, all right.”

The older policeman was holding his hands up between us with the younger one moving to restrain whichever one of us made a first move.

“Look we’re not going to resolve this here and now so I’m going to have to ask both of you to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

Oh sh*!. Mind you Phil didn’t seem any happier.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds, sir, that both you and the young lady have accused each other of committing a crime. Now come along you two, outside.”

Between them the two policemen ushered us towards the mall entrance, the older one talking into his radio to organise a pickup for us.

We waited outside for about five minutes before a police van drove alongside and we were invited to step up inside. The temperature had dropped considerably with the setting of the sun and I was glad of the new dress and jacket, even if my legs weren’t getting any benefit from them.

The trip to the police station was short and silent. Phil kept glowering at me as though this were my fault, but with two more of the Bill up front he was not more prepared to risk saying anything than I was. I spent the journey putting together a background story for myself, yet again looking to rely more on actual events than my imagination. I remembered a couple of my parent’s friends who had a daughter about my apparent age and who had moved away up North some years back. I’d have to become her for a few hours at least.

The police station was an old fashioned red brick building with steps leading up to old wooden double doors with flaking green paint. We were lead through them into a waiting area, walls painted a dingy shade of magnolia, exposed plumbing and a large wooden counter, oak at a guess. The sergeant behind the counter gave us each a clipboard with a form to fill in and a cheap pen then pointed us at the benches ranged around the walls.

“Is it alright if I call my fiancée?”

Phil held his mobile phone up to the sergeant who shrugged before turning back without enthusiasm to whatever he’d been doing before we arrived. Phil pressed a speed dial on his phone and wandered off to a quiet corner of the waiting room. I settled onto a bench close to a large ribbed radiator, picked up the form and set about writing a little fiction.

Sharon arrived just as I was checking over the details I’d written and committing them to memory. She gave me a dark look and went straight to Phil who, for the occasion, affected a look of affronted dignity and stoic endurance under unjust persecution.

I handed my form over to the sergeant with an apologetic smile for the extra paperwork I was causing him.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of tea and a biscuit is there? I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m starving.”

He gave me an appraising look and decided I wasn’t trying to wind him up.

“I don’t know about the biscuit, but I’ll see what I can do about drinks.”

He called over to Sharon and Phil, deep in some private conference, and offered them the same, then stuck his head through a door at the back to ask for the drinks to be sent through. I sat back down in my seat and, with nothing else to pass the time, settled into a depressing speculation of my current and future prospects.

Less than a day in this new life and I’d already been taken for a prostitute twice, I’d resorted to blackmail and I’d been arrested. I had nowhere to stay, no means of income and I was starving, or at least hungrier than I had been in a lot of years. I huddled in close to the radiator, grateful to be able to feel my legs again, and nurtured my misery.

When the tea arrived, I added a couple of spoons of sugar and started to sip at it. It was too sweet for my tastes, but the sugar revived me somewhat and hot liquid warmed my insides. For the first time since I’d left the flat this morning, I felt human.

I thanked the sergeant with a smile and started to wander about the waiting room reading through the posters. There seemed to be quite a lot under missing persons with most of them being men in their twenties to thirties. Where there were photographs, they showed reasonably good looking young men having a laugh with their mates. Occasionally there would be a girlfriend in the picture looking a little neglected, and I found myself wondering just how many of these guys had met with my companion of the previous night. There wasn’t much I could do about it in any case; I mean just who would believe me?

Phil was called through to be interviewed first and after a while I wandered over to where Sharon was sitting. A diamond glistened on her left hand; the old so-and-so had proposed after all then. So just what the hell was he doing cruising the back streets for action when he was so recently engaged?

Sharon gave me an accusing look that seemed to be a little cracked around the edges and I felt for her. Phil may have paid me to keep quiet, but since he’d brought the cops in to try and get his money back I figured the deal was off. I sat down next to her but not too close.

“You probably think I’m a real bitch.”

“I don’t understand people like you. First you steal from him, then you accuse him of soliciting you as a prostitute. Why would you do such a thing?”

I looked her in the eyes. There had been something in her tone of voice and now in her eyes; she was having trouble believing her own words. Here goes nothing.

“I didn’t steal from him. I mean how am I supposed to nick his cash? Lift his wallet maybe? Yeah ok maybe I could have done that, ‘cept you should ask him if he’s still got it on him.

“As for the other. The thing is I’ve seen you an’ him around a bit so I know you’re together, so when he pulls up next to me in his big, silver Beemer and asks for a bit of action I’m a bit shocked is all.”

“You’re lying. You’re just trying to get yourself out of trouble.”

I gave her the registration of Phil’s car.

“We was in the mall with a couple of coppers when we was picked up. How would I know what car he drives unless I’d met him in the streets with him goin’ slow enough for me to know it was him?

“Look I get what you see in him so I understand why you don’t want to believe me. He’s a bit old for me, but a bit of alright even so. I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m not lying about what happened.”

She started to cry and I put my hand on hers until she flinched away. There was nothing else I could say so I stood up and walked back over to the other side of the room.

A few minutes later Phil came back into the waiting room looking pleased with himself. He re-joined Sharon as the DI who’d escorted him out indicated for me to follow him.

“All right love, bag on the table. Let’s see what you got in there.”

“Do you even have the right to do that? I mean am I being arrested or something? Do I need to ask for a lawyer?”

He let out a sigh of exasperation and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He leaned over the table at me.

“Look no-one’s been arrested yet alright? It’s just that things would go a lot quicker if you co-operated.”

“And I suppose he co-operated in the same way did he?”

I chucked my bag on the table with bad grace. The DI took it as consent and started rummaging about inside. He pulled out a pair of lacy panties and a bra and raised an eyebrow at me.

“What I wear under my clothes is my business.”

Next, without a great deal of surprise came the short skirts and skimpy tops I’d picked up from the flat.

“You’re Dad know you go around dressed like this?”

“My Dad couldn’t give a sh…”

“Less of that language young lady. Were you wearing this earlier today?”

I made a show of reluctance but picked out the things I’d been wearing earlier.

“Hardly surprising that someone would mistake you for a prostitute then.”

I gave him my best outraged teen look.

“What, so there’s a law against what I wear now is there?”

“Unfortunately no, but given that you were provocatively dressed I’m inclined to dismiss the charges you brought against the other gentleman, which means all we have to do is address his accusations against you.”

He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking across the table at me with way to much satisfaction.

Having given me a good half minute to squirm, he reached out for the clipboard and read through what I had written.

“Your name is Catherine Sleighton?”

“That’s what I wrote.”

Amazing how a small twist of the words allowed me to answer truthfully and sound more convincingly like a stroppy teenager.

“Do you have any ID?”

“No my stuff was nicked last night.”

“Did you report it?”

“What’s the point?”

I had a good pout on by this stage. He sighed and leaned across at me.

“This attitude isn’t going to help you, you know?”

“And what attitude will? You’ve already decided I’m guilty so why bother with the questions?”

He glanced at the tape recorder that was committing our words to record.

“I haven’t decided anyone’s guilt. That’s what we’re here trying to find out.”

“But it’s ok for you to go through my stuff. I’ll bet you didn’t ask him to turn out his pockets. If you had you’d’ve seen he still had his wallet on him.”

“And how would you know that?”

“’Cause I could see a bulge in his jacket and I don’t think he’s James Bond.”

“Exactly what would it prove if he had his wallet on him?”

“Well he’s saying I nicked is cash yeah? How am I supposed to have done that and left his wallet on him?”

“Do you have any money on you or was that stolen last night too?”

“I’ve got a bit. I don’t keep my cash with my other stuff.”

“Can I see it?”

I reached into my bra and tossed the remaining notes onto the table. DI whoever picked them up and looked them over.

“He says the money you took from him was fresh bills. These look pretty fresh.”

“Show me a cash machine that doesn’t give you new notes these days. It’s hardly proof that those were his.”

“So you took these from a cash dispenser? I don’t suppose you have your card still do you?”

“I told you, my stuff was nicked.”

“I take it you at least report the theft to your bank?”

“I’m not stupid am I?”

“So he says you stole a hundred pounds from him and here you are with eighty plus some change in your bag having just been in a charity shop. Seems a bit coincidental to me.”

“What that I’ve got a bit less than he says I took? What the hell is this? You’ve got nothing on me and you know it.”

“Just what did you buy in the charity shop?”

“This dress and jacket, the blue skirt, silk blouse and cardigan.”

“Do you have a receipt?”

“No she didn’t give me one.”

“Do you remember how much it all cost?”

“What’s the point of that question? I could say anything and you couldn’t prove it.”

“No, point taken. In any case most likely more than fifteen quid.”

He was deflating rapidly and his eyes looked like he was doing a job of reassessing the facts. After a while he stood up and walked out of the room. He wasn’t gone long and when he came back his face was a mask of anger and embarrassment. He turned off the recorder.

“Alright you can go.”

“What just like that? You go through my stuff, more or less accuse me of stealing and now you just want me to go without so much as an apology?”

“If you want to hang around I’m sure I could find something to charge you with.”

I stood up and gathered my things, tucking the money back where it was best hidden.

“Do I get a lift back to where you picked me up?”

“There’s a tube station down the road.”

I gave him a dirty look and walked out muttering expletives as I went. In the waiting room Phil and Sharon were just finishing a blazing row and I arrived in time to see her storm out of the police station. I nodded to the sergeant and pushed my way through the doors after her. They hadn’t quite closed behind me when I heard the DI’s voice.

“Excuse me Mr Harris. I have a few more questions for you before you go thank-you.”

It served the toss-pot right. I allowed myself a quiet smile and turned down the road back the way I’d come. I had no idea where I was going to spend the night, but I figured I’d be better off back in the centre of the city.

-oOo-
I’d walked a couple of hundred yards and was beginning to realise how much my feet were going to hurt by the time I’d made back where I wanted to be — I wasn’t ready to waste any of my meagre funds on public transport — when for the second time that evening a car pulled up beside me.

I bent down and looked in through the passenger window to see Sharon looking at me through ruined makeup.

“You need a lift? Because I sure as hell need some company right now.”

I slid in beside her feeling as much gratitude for the relief to my feet as concern for her state of mind.

“Where are you heading?”

She pulled back out into traffic without checking her mirrors, leaving a riot of squealing brakes and blaring horns behind her. I did my best not to cringe, knowing it would do nothing to improve the experience.

“I don’t really know. I was going to try the YWCA again; they were full earlier but I figured if I was to turn up this late maybe they’d be able to squeeze me in somewhere.”

“You don’t have anywhere to stay?”

How she managed to keep the car going straight down the road while she was looking across at me like that I have no idea. I closed my eyes in the hope that the inevitable pileup wouldn’t hurt as much if I didn’t see it coming.

“Not really, but I’ll be ok. Just drop me off near the Y and I’ll sort something out.”

There was a long silence and I dared to open an eye. Sharon was looking at the road ahead again, deep in thought. After a while she glanced over at me and seemed to make up her mind.

“You could stay with me for a bit.”

“You hardly know me. Aren’t you afraid I might rip you off?”

A thin smile played briefly across her lips.

“I won’t deny it the thought did cross my mind, but I’m usually a reasonable judge of character and I don’t think you’d do that to me. Besides I could do with the company and I don’t think I’d sleep well tonight if I was worrying about you sleeping rough.”

Good judge of character? What like with Phil? I held my peace though; this was not the best time or place to bring something like that up.

“Well? What do you say? I mean you’d be sharing a sofa with a few cats, but somehow I don’t think that’s worse than what you’d end up with otherwise.”

I’d never given Sharon much time before. Somehow she’d given me a first impression of being rather shallow, but here she was offering to share her home with someone she didn’t know from Eve, and after I’d been largely responsible for ruining her future with Phil. The prospect of a warm bed and a roof over my head set my eyes swimming. She glanced over at me and I managed a nod.

“Ok then, if I remember right you said you hadn’t eaten since lunch so I’m guessing you’re hungry.”

That was when the events of the day really caught up with me and I sort of phased out. I don’t remember much of the short trip to her flat or of the conversation except that it was mercifully one sided and I didn’t have to contribute much more than the occasional generic grunt.

We found a parking spot close to her flat and I followed her in. The moment she slid the key into the lock there was a yowling from the other side, then we were in with three cats tangling themselves around our ankles and butting their heads against our shins. It was an odd sensation through thick woollen tights, but pleasant.

“Sit down and relax, you’ve had a tough day. Omelette ok? Nothing special but it’ll only take ten minutes.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

I dropped onto the sofa and kicked off my shoes. Flexing my toes was a delight and a moment later a tabby cat landed in my lap and started butting my chin for attention, only settling when I obediently started to scratch it under the chin.

Sharon popped her head around the door.

“Red or white?”

“Sorry?”

“Wine. Do you prefer red or white?”

As Ken I’d preferred red and I nearly answered as such, but something told me my new younger self wouldn’t have the experience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know a lot about wine…”

“Then we’ll start you off on white. I have a Pinot Grigio in the fridge which I think might be a good first taste. If you’re going to spend any time around here you’re going to have to learn to like it.”

She disappeared again and came back with a narrow wine glass with condensation forming around the sides. I sipped at the glass and the troubles of the world melted away. His majesty, King Tabby, pushed his head under my free hand and insisted by royal decree that I should continue to minister to his needs and, with a tired smile, I acquiesced. At least until Sharon came back in with a plate and fork for each of us and shooed him off my lap.

“If you’re not careful he’ll inveigle you into his service. You just need to tell him when you’ve had enough.”

The omelette was astonishing. Just a little bit moist on the inside and filled with cheese and fresh chives and with a salad on the side. I’d never been much into rabbit food, but somehow these flavours were much brighter. I tried to east everything slowly, but it tasted so good and I was so hungry.

Sharon had only taken a few bites of hers by the time I’d finished mine and I felt my face reddening at my poor manners. She never missed a beat.

“Well they say the best compliment you can give a chef is an empty plate. If you’re still hungry I can soon make you another.”

“Oh no that was great thank-you. It’s just that I was really hungry. Not so much now.”

I hid my shame as best I could behind my wine glass and tried to join in the conversation as she picked her way slowly through her own meal.

She was a gracious host and didn’t keep me talking long after we’d both finished eating. She refused my carrying the plates and glasses out to the kitchen, then reappeared with a pile of bedding and slipped a sheet over the cushions on the sofa.

“Right. I’m going to withdraw and let you get your head down; I’m guessing you’re really tired. If there’s anything you need just let me know.”

I bit my lip and looked at my bag.

“Ok, out with it. What do you need? Mi casa es su casa while you’re here.”

This was embarrassing. I hadn’t even thought this far ahead.

“I don’t have any nightclothes. I wouldn’t have minded sleeping in my undies in the Y but it doesn’t seem polite here.”

She disappeared for a few seconds and came back with a tee-shirt nighty. Unsurprisingly there were cats on it.

“Anything else before I leave you in peace?”

“I don’t suppose you have a spare toothbrush?”

She showed me a cupboard in her bathroom where all the spares were kept. This included certain things I hadn’t thought about yet that I would almost certainly need within the next three weeks or so.

“Help yourself to what you need. I’ll probably have gone to church by the time you wake up tomorrow so help hunt around and make yourself at home. I should be back by lunchtime and we’ll decide what to do with the rest of the day then, ok?”

Very ok. I thanked her again for her hospitality and just about managed to keep myself vertical for the time it took me to change and brush my teeth. Once I was snuggled under a warm duvet it didn’t take long for the cats to come and find places to settle themselves. I was glad of their company as the night gathered me into its velvet embrace.

-oOo-
I heard the door close quietly somewhere in the hazy depths of a dream and very slowly I rose to the surface. I rolled over, dislodging a couple of cats, and burrowed back under the covers looking for those ethereal moments between sleeping and waking where time expands and the world is soft, but something was off and I couldn’t settle.

I surrendered to the inevitable and sat up, pushing amass of hair out of my face and staring stupidly at the low table in front of me. Why was a sleeping on a sofa? Who’s sofa was I sleeping on? Where did all this hair come from? What the…?

The events of the past couple of days washed over me like a wave of cold water. I looked down at my pink nightie and the two soft bulges pushing out from my chest and remembered. I wasn’t sleepy anymore and nature was hollering for my attention. I just made it to the bathroom in time, wondering how I had managed to go almost the entire previous day without a disaster.

When I was done and washing my hands, I looked into the mirror in wonder and delight at the person looking back. My hair needed washing again after yesterday’s adventures, but despite the bedraggled look I was beautiful. I climbed into the shower and spent a luxurious half hour under the hot water washing myself clean in body and soul and lathering the filth out of my hair. When I had finished my skin was tingling all over and I spent a few moments exploring those places the mystery woman had shown me. A warm glow suffused me and I nearly lost myself to the sensation, but this was something to be shared and I managed by some strength of will to stop myself. I managed to wrap a towel around my body with enough security to feel comfortable walking around, but I couldn’t figure out how to gather up my hair in another so settled for towelling it dry as I headed for the kitchen and much needed sustenance.

I found a half full jug of coffee and a note — ‘Help yourself, I’ll be back around twelvish.’ — so I did. The coffee provided a welcome boost to the brain and after a little searching I settled my hunger with a bowl full of what tasted like soggy cardboard with half a banana sliced over it to make it bearable.

Immediate needs taken care of, I set out in search of a hair drier and, having searched everywhere else without success, eventually turned to Sharon’s bedroom door. It felt like a violation of privacy going in there but she had told me that her house was my house so I decided to take her at her word. The first thing I noticed was the wastepaper basket brimming with used tissues and the smears of mascara on the pillow. I felt oddly guilty that I hadn’t been there for her last night and vowed to make it up to her.

The hair drier was hiding in plain sight on the dresser along with various other paraphernalia, most of which looked like medieval instruments of torture. I stuck to what I could recognise and set about untangling my hair with a hairbrush. I didn’t feel exactly comfortable using someone else’s, but it needed to be done and I could always clean it out afterwards.

It took the best part of an hour to dry and brush my hair and my stomach was growling at me by the time I was done. I took the hairbrush into the bathroom and teased out every hair I could find before putting it back where I’d found it. I was tempted to have a look through her wardrobe while I was there, but I’d invaded her privacy enough so turned back towards the lounge and my bag of meagre possessions.

I was oddly reluctant to wear the red dress two days in a row, so rummaged through the bag for what else I could find. The nice detective inspector from the other day had taken very little care with my things and the skirt and silk blouse I’d bought from the charity shop were in a crumpled ball in the bottom. Most of the rest of my clothes had survived reasonably well but I didn’t want to go back to the slutty look. I slipped on a fresh set of underwear and a pair of nude tights then dug out the iron and ironing board out from where I had found them during my search for the hair drier. It didn’t take ten minutes to get rid of the creases and finally I was dressed and presentable to the world.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and, with nothing better to do, picked up the basket of ironing I noticed tucked away in the corner of the kitchen and set to work. Fortunately Sharon wasn’t a particularly frilly person so there was no delicate lace or awkward bows and flounces to work around and the pile dwindled quickly. I did duck into Sharon’s wardrobe in a brief hunt for coat hangers, but otherwise concentrated on working through the pile of clothes.

I was just putting the iron away when I heard the key in the door. The cats ran to give her their usual greeting and, no doubt, to complain about how badly I had neglected them. I hadn’t quite closed the door when she entered the room.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that. I was hoping I’d find you with your feet up in front of the television.”

“Well I had to iron a few of my own things and since I had the iron out I figured why not. How was church?”

She looked away.

“A little awkward. Everyone was asking where Phil was and I really didn’t want to talk about it.”

Feeling a little awkward myself I stepped forward to offer her a hug. She clung to me and burst into tears. I held on and stroked her hair and made soothing noises, hoping that she wasn’t doing the same thing to my blouse as she’d done to her pillowcase.

Eventually she pulled away and went in search of a tissue.

“Thanks I needed that.”

I was relieved to note that she had forgone makeup.

“There’s a little coffee left if you like. I wasn’t sure how the machine worked so it’s just what’s left over from this morning.”

“No let’s go out for lunch. There’s a pub not far from here that does a halfway decent carvary on Sundays and I don’t feel much like cooking today. My treat if you’re up for it?”

Breakfast was far enough in the past that I nodded and went in search of my pumps and my jacket.

“Where’s your handbag?”

I looked at her blankly for a moment then indicated my large shoulder bag.

“That’s all I brought with me and I don’t really want to carry all my stuff around today.”

“Never mind you can borrow one of mine.”

And with that she dived into her bedroom, resurfacing a few moments later with a small, black patent leather shoulder bag. I smiled my thanks and transferred my cash into it. It wasn’t quite empty, containing a packet of tissues and a certain item, the use of which I wasn’t yet ready to contemplate. I snapped it shut and followed her out of the flat.

-oOo-
Lunch was wonderful except that, still in in the habit of feeding Ken’s appetite, I piled my plate rather high and was left with an embarrassing amount of uneaten food at the end of it. That and the barman wanted to see my ID and refused to serve me anything more than a diet coke when I couldn’t produce it.

After we’d finished eating and were sitting quietly finishing our drinks, a couple of men sauntered over to us and asked if we might like some company. Sharon’s face went still and it was left to me to smile apologetically and tell them this wasn’t’ a good time.

They wandered off muttering to each other and laughing unpleasantly. One of their comments was just loud enough to hear and Sharon blinked back sudden tear.

“Why do they have to be so unkind? I mean it’s not as if we were rude to them.”

A flash of insight.

“Being a guy is all about competition. Any time they take the risk of approaching a couple of women like us, they put their reputation on the line. If they get turned down they’ve got to bull it out as though it didn’t matter to them, or preferably because they’d just found something out about us that meant they changed their minds.”

She stared at me.

“How did you to get so wise in the ways of the world?”

I shrugged; time to make something up.

“Two older brothers.”

I stored that away in the fictional database of my new self.

“Were they mean to you?”

“Some of the time, I guess so, but they were also quite protective of me.”

I was projecting my own brother into the mix.

We finished up and headed for the door and set about an indirect road home through the deserted shopping precinct. When I recognised Sharon’s intentions I began to steel myself for the trials ahead, never having been particularly fond of shopping trips. True to form, our slow meandering took us from one shop window to the next and I was beginning to dread the rest of the afternoon when Sharon turned to me.

“That would look really good on you.”

With that she pulled me in front of the window so that my reflection in the mirror superimposed over the outfit on display. It consisted of a burnt ochre loose tunic top over a pair of thick burgundy leggings with lace trim at the ankles. A pair of socks to match the top and a pair of flats finished it off. It was casual, but it was surprisingly me.

A second flash of inspiration hit me and I saw that these shopping trips were not so much a commercial exercise as a social one. This wasn’t about looking for things to buy with all that money I didn’t have, but rather a way of bonding and encouraging one another. I allowed myself a smile as I imagined myself in the more colourful outfit.

“You know I think you’re right.”

And after that the whole afternoon picked up. Every display we looked at became an opportunity for one or the other of us to suggest a new look to the other, and every suggestion became an exploration in the way we saw each other. Every now and again we’d come across some example of extreme fashion and collapse in fits of laughter at the thought of either of us presenting in such an outfit and by the time we made it back to Sharon’s flat she had her arms wrapped around my elbow and was smiling freely, her whole face relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since we’d met the previous night.

“You know I’m glad we met. Not so happy about the circumstances, but it’s not your fault that Phillip turned out to be such a dick, and I wouldn’t feel anywhere near this happy right now if you weren’t with me. It’s a strange thing but I feel like I’ve known you for ages.”

“It’s hardly likely; I mean I only arrived in London a few days ago. But I’m glad you stopped to pick me up too. It’s so good to feel warm and well fed.”

She gave me a squeeze and we waded into the flat; knee deep in moggies.

-oOo-
The answerphone light was flashing, showing half a dozen messages. Sharon played through them all, her face turning ever more stony as each one turned out to be a new message from Phil. He’d spent the night as a guest of the local constabulary and had been trying to call since he’d arrived home. He pleaded for a chance to talk to her, to explain. What story he had managed to concoct in the seclusion of his cell I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to let my new friend fall foul to the lies of my old one. Time for a bit more playacting.

“I had a boyfriend like him once. After I broke up with him he didn’t stop calling for about a week then he turned up on my doorstep with boatload of flowers and pile of crap excuses.”

“What did you do?”

“I let him have his say then I told him to bog off and if he didn’t leave me alone I’d get the police on him.”

“The thing is I really miss him.”

I sighed. Sharon gave me a sheepish look.

“I’m being an idiot aren’t I?”

“Well put it this way: When did he propose to you?”

“Friday evening.”

Well that at least explained why Phil was so keen for me to fly solo on Friday.

“And less than twenty-four hours later he’s cruising down one of London’s dodgier streets asking what he thought was a teenage prostitute if she fancied some action. I’m sorry Sharon but the man you miss doesn’t exist; just a sleazebag pretending to be him. You get back together with him and you’re in for a whole world of hurt. There are better guys out there and you deserve one of them.”

She gave me a weak and unconvincing smile.

“At least give him a week to stew in his juices. You may find you feel differently about him by then.”

She nodded a bit more positively this time and we left the answerphone on to screen calls.

The remainder of the afternoon we shared a pot of coffee and a packet of tissues over a soppy film, punctuated unfortunately by Phil’s increasingly desperate phone calls, then I followed orders around the kitchen as Sharon did something special with feta cheese and salad. We cracked open a fresh bottle of wine and chatted long past the end of the meal.

We discussed my plans to hunt for a job and she offered a few suggestions as to where I should try and how I should go about it. Phil kept on calling, his tone passing from pleading through desperate and bottoming out at angry. His last call came through about eleven o’clock while Sharon was helping me make up my bed on the sofa. She went straight to the phone and pulled the plug out of the wall.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t miss him that much. Goodnight.”

-oOo-
The following days settled into something of a routine. We’d both wake early and I’d but the coffee on and make breakfast while Sharon washed and dressed. We’d share the first meal of the day then as soon as she’d left for work, I’d go about getting ready and head out in search of a job.

At first it was fun. The shopkeepers and business managers didn’t look at me like I was something to be scraped off the bottom of their shoes any more, but the answer was still the same. Three days of trudging from one place to the next, asking to see the manager or HR manager or whoever might be responsible for hiring, only to be told that they weren’t hiring at that time. Around mid-afternoon I’d give up and head back to the flat where I’d tidy rooms, clean toilets, polish tables and chairs; anything to help me feel like I was being useful.

Sharon did her best to cheer me on through the dead patch. Phil had given up calling and she was in a better place for being apart from him. She’d try to distract me by asking what I would like to do if I had the chance and suggested that I might make a go of acting or modelling.

“Don’t be daft. I haven’t acted since I was about ten or eleven years old and I’m too fat to be a model.”

“You young lady are anything but fat.”

“Oh I know that, but have you seen models these days? For one thing they’re all a few inches taller than me. For another I’m pretty sure none of them would dare risk taking a shower for fear of slipping down the plughole. Me I like my food too much to do that to myself.”

“Well how about modelling for a clothes catalogue? I mean most of the women in those look normal and with your looks and complexion you’d be a shoe in.”

“Bit of a pipe dream that. I mean I can’t even get a job stacking shelves in a supermarket, what makes you think I’d have half a chance at a cushy number like that. Besides it’s not what you know these days so much as who you know, so unless you’re connected I’m stuffed.”

Still the days weren’t all bad. Sharon continued to cook incredible meals and I really enjoyed her company.

Thursday dawned and we went through our usual morning ritual. I left the flat around nineish and set out on a new route through the shopping area. Then on my last stop before lunch, my luck changed.

“Yes we do have an opening. Nothing special, just working on the shop floor, but we would be happy to consider you.”

I was given an application form and told to bring it back with proof of my current address and a couple of references. I thanked the manager and headed off to lunch.

I was halfway through filling in the application, chomping contentedly on a cheese burger, when I started to hit snags. National Insurance Number, proof of identity (passport, driver’s licence, birth certificate). I couldn’t use my old one because they belonged to a man ten years my senior, I couldn’t get them from anywhere else. The only way I would be able to work again was if I did so illegally. This was a disaster.

I wandered back to the flat in a daze, let myself in and sat absent-mindedly stroking a cat until Sharon came home. I couldn’t see a way out. I would have to come clean with Sharon and she would either think I’d gone mad, or she’d believe me. In either case she wouldn’t want me around anymore. All this had been was a short stay of execution before my fate caught up with me.

“So how’d it go today?”

Sharon was her usual perky self as she shrugged off her coat and came into the living room. Her manner changed as soon as she saw me. She was across the room and sitting close beside me before I managed to surface from my reverie.

“What’s wrong sweetie?”

I stared at her blankly.

“I got offered a job today.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

I don’t know why some people equate comforting someone with talking to them as though they were ten years old.

“You don’t understand I can’t fill in the application form.”

“Well don’t worry about that sweetie, I’ll help you.”

“No I mean there are things I can’t fill in. Like my National Insurance number.”

“Oh.”

“And I don’t have anything like a passport or birth certificate either.”

“Can’t you phone your parents and ask them to send them to you, or were they in the things you had stolen? There are ways to get those things replaced you know, all it takes is a few phone calls.”

I was crying tears of frustration.

“No! They weren’t stolen; that was just an excuse to stop people asking questions. I don’t have any ID. I never have because up until last Friday night I didn’t exist.”

Silence flooded in to fill the space around us. Sharon was looking at me as though I were insane. I closed my eyes feeling the all too ready tears escape and run down my cheeks. Here goes nothing, I might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.

I started to describe the dates; all those disastrous dates that Sharon had set me up with. One after the other I’d give her the time and date of the meeting, the location, the name of the girl and enough detail on what had gone wrong to leave no doubt that I had been there. It was painful revisiting so many unpleasant memories, painful to see the shocked disbelief fill Sharon’s eyes, her hands rising involuntarily to her cover her mouth, but I stuck to it until I had described every single disaster. Eventually I ran out of words and sat waiting.

“Kenny?”

She believed me.

“Kenny, is that really you?”

The tears were flowing again and I nodded unable to trust my voice.

I felt warm arms around me and I was pulled into a soft embrace. Until that moment I hadn’t realised how much strain it had been keeping my secret. Now that it was out all the walls crumbled and I cried out my relief and despair onto Sharon’s shoulder.

Eventually all the tears were shed and I was left with a barren calm inside. I pulled away and sat staring at my knees as Sharon rummaged around for some tissues. I accepted them with a weak but grateful smile and started dabbing at my puffy eyes.

“What happened to you?”

And so I told her. From the moment of my arrival at the Meet Market, to the encounter with the mystery woman and her unusual warning, to the way the evening had unfolded and how I’d ended up in her flat, to the kiss and the transformation. I glossed over the events that took place in the bedroom, but the redness of my cheeks almost certainly filled in where the words were lacking.

I went on to describe the unusual note I had found when I woke up, the deadline and the limited choice of clothes, the horrendous day trudging around cold, half-starved and fearful until Phil’s car had drawn alongside and he’d leaned out to make his indecent proposition.

I confessed to blackmailing him out of a hundred quid and explained what I was doing with it when Phil set the two police officers on me. I told her how I’d turned things around enough to have us both carted off to the nearest police station.

“And the rest you pretty much know. You’ve been so kind to me these past few days I really felt bad about lying, but this whole thing is so impossible I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. To be honest I still have that f…”

I hadn’t dared look up all through all of my description, but now that I was done I looked up in to her eyes and the last word faltered on my lips. Her expression was stony and a slow anger burned behind her eyes. After a seemingly interminable pause she spoke in calm and measured tones.

“You must think me think me the most gullible person alive. What is this? I mean just how far were you going to go? Was it Phil and Ken who put you up to this? Did Ken tell you all those embarrassing stories so that you could convince me? What kind of sick, cruel joke are you trying to pull here?”

“Sharon it’s not like that…”

“You know the worst of it is that I actually liked you. I felt sorry for you at first, but then you turned out to be someone I thought I could call a friend. I trusted you and cared for you, you know that?”

“Sharon…”

She stood up and walked towards the kitchen keeping her back to me.

“I think I’d like you to leave now please. Just gather your things and get out.”

There was nothing left to say. She looked so alone and vulnerable I wanted to reach out to her, but that wasn’t going to happen now. With a slowness born of reluctance I gathered all my clothes and put them into my bag; it didn’t take long even so.

I put the door key on the coffee table and looked up at her stiff and unrelenting pose. It was already dark outside and cold enough that a wet snow was falling. I had no idea where I might find shelter at this time of the evening, but I had no more welcome here. I couldn’t blame her for that, I mean what had happened to me was farfetched. I gave the friendly tabby a last scratch behind his ears and headed for the door and who knew what.