My visitor, at last, released his hold and, rather than give him the chance to sweep me up for a second time, I took a quick step back, seizing the opportunity to create some space between us.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the man, who, much to my dismay, seemed to misinterpret my action as an invitation to enter.
I stood there opened-mouthed, as before I knew it, he’d picked up his rucksack and guitar and crossed the threshold. “Excuse me,” I said, calling after him, but too busy getting his bearings, my words seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“In here?” he asked. Indicating the lounge to his right, he didn’t wait for an answer, he simply walked right in.
“But… but…” I said, stuttering. Questioning if the man had a hearing as well as a sight problem, I wondered what he thought he was doing. I closed the front door and raced after him, my brain struggling to compute the fact that a stranger had just let himself into my house.
“Very cosy,” he said. Scanning the room, his eyes landed on my crowded bookshelves. “You like to read then?” He dropped his things for a second time and plonked himself down on my sofa, before putting his feet up onto the coffee table. “Very nice.”
I struggled to find the right words for what was happening. “What? Who? Why?” I said, followed by a string of unrelated syllables.
“I can just see myself sitting here in front of a roaring fire, Christmas carols playing in the background,” he said.
My heart rate increased. The way the man was talking, anyone would think he was moving in.
“Shame there’s no decorations about the place though.” He turned his head to look at me. “Don’t you like Christmas trees?”
As he made himself at home, I didn’t only question his actions, I prayed I wasn’t about to become a hostage in my own house. Just in case, I told myself the last thing I should do was antagonise the man and wondering how I was going to get him out of there, I decided to play it cool. “It’s not that I don’t like them,” I replied, forced to cough to get rid of the squeak in my voice. “I was meant to be going–” I stopped short, silently scolding myself. Captive or not, I didn’t have to give anyone an explanation.
“I get it,” he said. “You prefer the real thing. Same here. I can help you choose one if you like?”
I remembered how I’d read somewhere that in order to survive such situations, a victim needed to make their captor see them as a human being. “Like my Mum always says,” I said, trying to sound chirpy as I got in the fact that I was someone’s daughter. “You can’t beat the smell of pine needles at this time of year.”
“Well tree or no tree, I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
“Grateful?” I said. I watched him get up from the sofa and make his way to the window to look out onto the garden, the furthest point from the door, I noted, in case I had to make a run for it.
“Getting accommodation around here is a nightmare. Especially at this time of year.”
So, the man did think he was moving in. Oh, Lordy. I closed my eyes, telling myself I must have been dreaming or, thanks to alcoholic poisoning, hallucinating. I flashed them open again. “Accommodation?” I asked.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and almost laughing at my stupidity, relaxed. It was clear I’d been reading too many crime novels. The man before me wasn’t a threat, he’d simply mistaken my house for the bed and breakfast down the road. My internal alarm suddenly rang again. Mistake or not, that didn’t explain how he knew my name.
“So when Annie said–”
“Annie?” I replied, interrupting him. Confused, I found myself wondering what she had to do with anything. My hand went straight to my dressing gown pocket where my phone sat as I remembered her text message, before recalling our telephone conversation when she said something about having a man problem.
“Don’t worry.” He turned to face me again. “I’m a good house guest.”
House guest? Almost spluttering, I didn’t think so.
“I won’t trash the place.”
As his words sank in, half of me wanted to laugh, the other half to cry and in my silent hysteria, I told myself this couldn’t be happening. There had to be a mix-up somewhere. I pictured Annie’s text telling me she owed me one, but I refused to believe the situation I found myself in had anything to do with my friend. I couldn’t have agreed to host a man I’d never met before. I wouldn’t. I didn’t even know his name.
“It’s a shame I won’t be here for long though. I mean I’m sure Annie’s place is fab–”
“Excuse me?” I wondered if I should query how well he and Annie knew each other.
“But I bet it’s not as cosy as this. At least, not with a feisty young woman back in the house.” He turned to the window again. “And that view.” The man clicked his tongue, clearly impressed. “It’s to die for.”
I tried to raise a smile, when in truth I wanted to ask him to leave. If he’d never as much as visited her home, Annie obviously didn’t know him much at all.
“Anyway, I’m sure you got the story.”
While aware that Annie’s daughter had landed back home having left her boyfriend, when it came to the rest, I didn’t have a clue. And try as I did to remember, thanks to the previous night’s alcohol intake everything remained foggy. I cursed myself for drinking so much that I’d lost my memory. Even more so for not living an alcohol-free life. I thought of Annie and felt torn. One part of me was infuriated at being put in this position; the other part was aware there’d be a reason she’d asked for my help.
“Right,” the chap said. He rubbed his hands together as if preparing to get organised. “I suppose I should go and get my suitcase before anyone runs off with it.” He smiled. “Then you can show me to my room.”
I suppressed a squeal.
Heading for the door, he paused and turned to look at me before exiting, his soft eyes and appreciative expression catching me off guard. His stare felt overwhelming, its intensity causing butterflies to play havoc in my tummy.
“Annie said you’re a decent sort,” he said, at last exiting the room.
I opened my mouth to call after him before changing my mind, instead, pulling my phone out of my pocket and hastily searching for Annie’s number. “There has to be a way out of this,” I insisted, as I clicked call and waited for her to answer. “Come on, come on.” The ring tone continued, yet no one picked up, leaving me no choice but to end the call altogether and repeat the process. “Annie, please.”
I suddenly heard voices coming in from the street and closing my eyes for a second, realised my unexpected guest had met one of the locals. I tried to ignore the chatter, but with nothing but radio silence from Annie, I growled, and ended the call for a second time. Despite still being in my dressing gown, I headed to the front door, knowing before I got there which neighbour my unexpected guest would be talking to. When it came to keeping abreast with the comings and goings on the street, the woman didn’t seem able to help herself. I was convinced she spent hours at her front window, waiting for an unusual event or new face to turn up.