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He spent the next few days looking out the window of the room that faced the back garden. The toilet window also faced the back garden, and after every visit to the toilet, he’d look out it, towards the gate and the lane behind.
One day he forgot to lock the toilet door. It was shut, but he had forgotten to lock it. After he washed and dried his hands, he had a look out the window. To do so was always an effort, because the window was high, and in order to look out it he had to step into the bath, and go on his tiptoes.
Linda walked in and saw him peering through the window, and asked him what he was doing.
He nearly fell in the bath. He said he wasn’t doing anything, just looking out the window. He couldn’t think of what else to say.
She looked through the window, and asked him if he was looking at their neighbour, Teresa.
He told her that Teresa wasn’t there, but when he looked out, there she was, lying in her garden, reading a magazine.
When he pictured how it looked through Linda’s eyes, it looked bad. He looked like an old-school pervert.
Linda walked away, and Gary was about to call her back to say that it wasn’t what she thought. But he knew that if she asked what it was he was looking at, he’d probably have to tell her that he left the keys in the padlock and now they were gone. Maybe he would have owned up if she kept at it, but because she walked away, he just left it.
A week passed, with no break-ins. It surprised Gary, especially considering that they’d left the house unoccupied for a few hours here and there at various times of the day.
There was even a time when they went through to Linda’s mum and dad’s for the night, and they’d made it quite obvious that they weren’t home. Gary tried hard to not make it so obvious, by leaving all the lights on and turning on the radio. Linda asked him why he was doing that, considering he didn’t usually. He told her that there was no right or wrong time to start being conscious of burglars. But she said that she doubted that anybody would be able to break in, not with all the locks they had. There were locks on the windows, and there were the special locks on the front and back doors. Multipoint locks. Burglars couldn’t kick their way past those.
‘But somebody could pick them,’ said Gary.
Gary wasn’t sure if it was a clever move to continue with the talk of burglars, or a stupid one. It would be a stupid move if the burglars chose that night to break in, on the day that Gary coincidentally became conscious of burglars. She would have asked him if he was psychic, especially because he also seemed to predict that the burglars got into the house by apparently picking the lock. Then she’d maybe wonder if they had a key. Then she’d ask Gary where the keys were, and she’d see that one of them was missing. And she’d see the look on his face. And he’d have to tell her how long he’d known for. And she’d know he let her think that he was perving on Teresa, rather than just owning up to the truth.
‘Och, forget it,’ said Gary, switching off the lights. ‘You’re right.’
He switched off every light in the house. He didn’t even close the curtains. He’d rather that the house looked unoccupied and ripe for the picking, than face the music. He’d rather jeopardise their telly, their computers and anything else worth stealing. He’d rather do that and take all the hassle that it would cause, all the phone calls and changing of passwords and proving who he was, than face the music. He could face it eventually, but he wanted some more time to try and work it all out and make things right.
They left the house, and Gary spent the night thinking about what they’d be returning to the next day.
But when they returned, everything was intact.
Gary looked around the house at all the things worth knocking. The telly, the computers, even the food in the fridge. Linda watched him as he looked at it all.
He saw her watching and said, ‘Ah, good to be back. It’s just good to be back.’
After that night, Gary told himself that if burglars were going to break in, if they truly had their eyes on the house, they would have broken in then. And because they didn’t, then maybe there weren’t any burglars. Maybe the keys weren’t really in the hands of a thief, and they were lying out there in the pebbles after all.
He took a walk to the gate and had another look, making sure again that he wasn’t spotted by Linda. He looked in the pebbles and the grass, and in the path behind the gate, but there was nothing. It was puzzling.
Perhaps somebody did snatch the keys, but the type of person that did such a thing would be out their face at the time, and they’ve since forgotten where the keys came from. Perhaps there was a thief somewhere out there, wondering whose keys were in his pocket.
Gary took off the padlock and threw it in the bin, and told himself to remember to buy a new one, so that Linda didn’t ask questions. He also reminded himself to get a copy of the key to the back door, because if they lost the one they had left, Linda would ask what happened to the other one. And she’d see the look on his face. Then she’d find out about how he left the keys in the padlock, and that he left the house unoccupied with all the lights off and the curtains open, putting everything at risk.
Gary went to the shops and replaced the padlock. He got an extra key cut for the back door, and put them on a keyring that looked just the same as the old one. Linda didn’t suspect a thing.
Everything was going to be all right. Linda had been a bit funny with him since the perving incident with Teresa, but with regards to the keys, everything was going to be all right.
Then, a few days later, while Gary was looking out the bedroom window upstairs, he saw a guy cycling about outside in the street. There was something about him that Gary didn’t like the look of.
The guy wasn’t wearing cycling clothes. He was wearing denims and a jacket, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet. That would usually be unremarkable, because you don’t have to have all the bright clothes and a helmet to ride a bike. But usually, the only people you saw without a helmet were younger guys on a BMX. But this guy was about 30 years old, and he was cycling on a mountain bike that looked dodgy. The bike looked featureless, it was completely black with no logo, like it had been spray-painted black. And why was that? Because it had probably been knocked, and probably by the guy himself.
The guy went up the street, past the house. But when he got a few doors up, he doubled back.
Gary stepped away from the window to look out the side of the curtain, so that he couldn’t be seen. He saw the guy look at a few houses, which gave Gary some relief, because it didn’t look like the guy had an interest in Gary’s house in particular. But as the guy cycled past Gary’s front gate, he turned his head quickly to look at the living-room window. And he kept looking at it, even as he passed the houses further down the street.
It was him.
He was the man with the keys.
Gary knew what was coming. It was at that point that Gary thought that he really should tell Linda. He should tell Linda the fucking truth. He should tell Linda that he was sorry, he was so fucking sorry, but he’d left the keys in the padlock around the back, and now there was a guy casing their house. They should go to the police. They were about to get everything stolen.
But it would cost a fortune to get that lock replaced.
And it wasn’t just that either. It was the fact that he caused it. And then lied about it. Plus he’d left the house unoccupied, with the lights off and curtain open, knowing that they could have had their computers stolen. Plus there was the thing with Teresa. Him and Linda had been heading for the rocks ever since that happened, and he could have turned it around with a truthful explanation, but instead of that he just let it happen.
A couple of days passed, with no sight of the guy on the bike. But Gary knew the guy was out there, just biding his time. All it would take was one more night away from home.
‘We’re going through to my mum’s and dad’s tonight,’ said Linda.
But he made every excuse to not go.
He told her he didn’t feel well, his head was killing him. But she said he could just take a couple of painkillers and lie in bed when he got there.
He told her that he didn’t like her dad, which was partly true. He told her that he didn’t like the way her dad patted Gary’s belly almost every time he went over, making a comment about Gary ‘putting on the beef’. But Linda just told him to get over it, or say something back, or lose weight.
He told her that he didn’t like her mum either.
Gary and Linda fell out, and she went through to her mum’s and dad’s by herself. He felt bad, but there was no alternative, none that he could think of.
He slept in the house that night with every light on. He balanced a brush against the patio door in the kitchen so that it would fall over and hit the tiles if the door was opened. He tested it and it made a clatter that he could hear from anywhere in the house.
The night passed with no break-in, and Gary waited for Linda to come home the next day, but she texted him to say that she’d be staying for not one night but two.
Gary saw the guy on the bike again while she was away, this time cycling down the path behind the house. Gary could only see the top of the guy’s head, but he saw the head slow down near his gate, before speeding up and cycling off.
He felt like phoning the police, but he didn’t. It was just too late now.
He could have just phoned them or gone over to the station and asked them to keep things confidential. It might have been enough for the police to get a description of the guy. They might have known who Gary was talking about and paid the guy a visit, which would have scared the guy off. He’d maybe get the keys back.
But he didn’t do any of that. He just wanted it all to go away.
When Linda returned, she said she was going to sleep on the couch, in the living room. She reckoned that was her and him finished.
He could’ve just told her then. He could have told her that he left the keys in the padlock out in the gate, that he wasn’t shagging Teresa next door or looking at her or whatever it was that Linda thought was going on. He could have said he was sorry for leaving the house unoccupied, and hope that she understood why he lied.
He may as well have just told her the truth, if she reckoned that was her and him finished. There was nothing to lose. But he didn’t. He still had hope that it would work out somehow.
Then, one night, while he was lying awake upstairs in bed and she was sleeping downstairs in the living room, he heard the brush hit the tiles.
If there was a time to come clean, that was it.
Everything worth stealing was in the living room. The telly, the stereo, and probably the tablet. All the stuff worth knocking was in the living room, and the burglar probably knew that. They probably learned all about that in jail.
All he had to do was run downstairs and chase away the burglar.
But then Linda would ask questions, and she’d see the look on his face.
Trophies (#ua8673331-6b28-5e2e-9b5f-d6c72270b93c)
Martin was a cobbler. But like most cobblers, he didn’t just mend shoes. He cut keys. He did engravings. He engraved things like trophies and medals and nameplates for doors. People could either come in with the nameplates to be engraved, or they could pick one of the ones he had for sale on the shelves.
He also had trophies and medals for sale, which sat on the shelf above the nameplates and door knockers. It made the wall look like something you’d see in a football club, like a trophy cabinet. Martin used to make a joke about it with customers who were in to get their shoes fixed.
They’d point to their shoes and ask him, ‘Are you able to fix this? Is that something you do?’
And he’d say, ‘I do that. And you willnae find anybody better. Just look at my trophies!’
But he didn’t bother making that joke anymore.
The door beeped, and in walked a customer. Martin gave him a quick look up and down. Right away, he didn’t like the look of the guy. A possible thief, thought Martin. The guy looked shifty. It was the way he didn’t walk up to the counter to be served, but instead chose to hover around the things nearest the door.
Martin would get cunts like him in now and then. It was a busy street outside. They’d come in and hover about. Martin would turn his back on them for a second, then he’d hear the door beep and the guy would be gone. They’d have grabbed something from the rails, something worthless, like a packet of heel protectors. Martin could sometimes tell what they’d grabbed because they’d have grabbed the item off the rail so quickly that it would cause the remaining packets on the rail to swing.
And that’s what this guy was like. Hovering about. He didn’t look like he was browsing. If a person was browsing, they’d usually browse around just one type of item. They’d maybe browse around the items for doors, like the door knockers and nameplates, or browse around the trophies and medals ‒ but they’d never drift from the door items to the trophies, like this guy was doing. Nobody ever came into his shop for a nameplate and a trophy, it was either one or the other.
This guy was a thief. He was just waiting for Martin to turn his back, then he’d grab something shiny, and out the door he’d go. He’d be off with the heel protectors, thinking that they were made of solid gold, and he’d go around the pubs trying to sell them.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Martin.
That was the line that normally caused these cunts to leave. They’d say nothing in reply, like they hadn’t heard you, then they’d leave a few seconds later when they realised there was no way you were taking your eyes off them.
The guy looked at Martin and said ‘Yeah’, in that posh way. He played with his fingers, like an awkward teenager. It could be that he wasn’t a thief, but just shy, and he didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. You couldn’t be sure, though, not yet.
The door beeped as another man entered the shop. He was wearing denims and a suit jacket, and was pulling a shoebox out of a large paper bag. Martin didn’t like two people in the shop at the one time. The guy with the shoebox was less likely to be a thief than the first guy, but he couldn’t ask the first guy to leave.
‘We’re shut,’ said Martin.
‘Shut?’ asked the man, looking at the other guy. ‘But …’
‘I said we’re shut.’
The man didn’t like the attitude. ‘Fuck off, then.’
‘You fuck off.’
The man opened the door and left. The other guy decided to leave as well, slipping out before the door closed over.
Good. Fuck off. Pair of cunts.
You know, he used to joke about all the trophies on the wall being like a trophy cabinet, like he’d earned them. It was obviously a joke, but these cunts wouldn’t even crack a smile. But see seriously? All joking aside? He fucking deserved a trophy, for the cunts he had to put up with in there.
New Life (#ua8673331-6b28-5e2e-9b5f-d6c72270b93c)
Alan had gathered all his mates and a few family members at his flat. His girlfriend Lisa was there as well. It was a surprise. There was going to be an announcement, he said. Not even Lisa knew what it was about. It wasn’t his birthday or anything.
They came into the flat, smiling and asking questions. They were to be there at 7 p.m. Some of them had asked what they were to wear, but Alan had told them that it didn’t matter. Just wear what you want, it was nothing fancy, they weren’t going out clubbing. It was just an announcement.
‘What do you mean when you say you’re going to make an announcement?’ asked Lisa throughout the week.
‘Just wait, you’ll see,’ said Alan.
Alan seemed more upbeat lately than he had been for quite some time. Whatever the announcement was, it was good to see him like that. Lisa wondered if it was a new job, but would he really get everybody around just to announce that?
Everybody arrived and chatted for a few minutes while Alan took their coats and got them drinks. Alan’s best mate Steven said it was like one of those murder mystery weekends you hear about, but Alan said it was going be nothing like that, don’t get your hopes up.
They were enjoying it, though. Steven said he liked it, whatever it was, and Alan said he did as well. It was exciting and he was glad he came up with the idea.
Alan walked into the middle of the living room where everybody was, and stood on the rug in front of the telly. He cleared his throat in the jokey way that a person does when they want to make a speech.
‘Oh,’ said Anne, another one of Alan’s pals. ‘Here it is.’
‘The announcement,’ said Lisa. ‘At last.’
She really didn’t know what this could be. It could only be a good thing. All of this was a good thing. Alan rarely came up with an idea by himself, but it wasn’t his fault. He’d been struggling for a while, with everything.
‘So,’ said Alan. ‘Here it is.’
He looked nervous. Lisa asked him if he wanted to sit down, but he said that he was fine. He was just trying to think of how to get this across, the thing he had to say.
‘So,’ he said again. ‘As you know, I’ve had … no, in fact, first of all, thanks for coming, everybody, let me just say that first.’
‘You’re welcome, mate,’ said Steven.
Alan nodded and got back into it.
‘Right,’ said Alan. ‘So, as you know, I’m prone to getting a bit down.’
The happy atmosphere in the room subsided. The smiles were still there, but their eyes were no longer smiling. They began to realise that the thing that Alan had to say was a bit more serious than they first thought.
He turned the wrist of his right hand around to face everybody. There was a scar on it. ‘And you all know about this.’
Lisa looked at everybody in the room, and saw that they were becoming uncomfortable. Chris, one of Alan’s cousins, turned his head away to look at the wall to his side, even though there was nothing there of interest.
‘Alan,’ said Lisa. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘It’s fine. It’s all right, everybody.’
He smiled at everybody until he got a smile back. Then he continued to talk.
