Len

There she was, shivering her way across the forecourt in a tiny red dress. She had a Father Christmas hat pulled over her hair and her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest. If you looked a little closer, you could see she had been crying. As she reached the edge of the square, one of her heels caught against the pavement and she was jostled forward, losing her footing.

Len paused the video.

The girl juddered in the air, an arm flickering out in front of her. Her mouth had just begun to curl open in shock. His favourite part was coming up and he didn’t want to miss it. He lifted his rucksack onto the desk, sweeping some papers and a Yorkie wrapper aside, and laying it down lightly in the middle. It was dark outside so he lowered the blinds. He wanted everything to be perfect. He unzipped the bag, lifting out a stereo, a flask and a Tupperware box. He plugged the stereo in at the wall and left it on the windowsill. He pressed play and Noddy Holder started to sing. Next he unscrewed the flask and poured some sherry into the cup. He opened the box and dumped the contents out onto the lid - a sad, greasy looking chicken and a scattering of roast veg. The Co-op hadn’t had any turkey in, wrong time of year the man at the checkout said. He hoped she wouldn’t mind.

He’d watched the video over and over. Smuggling it out of the storeroom had been easy: though each tape was marked with a time and date, they were left to pile up in the store cupboard. No-one checked. He sat down and pulled the chair tightly into place. He reached into the zip pocket at the front of the bag and pulled out a set of cutlery, pressed play again and started eating.

The girl fell and rolled, landing awkwardly on her left leg. She sat there a minute, pulled her knees in close under her chin and began to sob. This was it. His cue. At this point, he always found himself holding his breath. From the bottom right of the frame a figure moved into shot, a round little man in a black security guard’s uniform. The figure walked over to the girl, spoke into her ear and lifted her from the floor. Together they walked off the screen, out onto the road.

Whenever he watched he found he could still remember how she had smelt and the way her words had seemed to tumble half-formed from her mouth. It brought it all back. He pressed rewind and the tape buzzed in its cradle. He stood up and walked over to the window, opened it slightly and held up the food, letting the smell waft out into the night. She would be out there he hoped, and soon it would find her. He only had to wait. It was July now. He only had to wait.

He left the food by the window, sat back down and took another drink of sherry. He pressed play. There she was again, shivering her way across the forecourt in her tiny red dress.