Character Development

Red lips. That’s the first thing I noticed about her.
Up until then, I wasn’t sure quite how I had wanted Helena to look, but something about this lady seemed to fit. The way her dark hair fell about her shoulders and the bronze, fur lined jacket she wore, was the kind of style that Helena would enjoy. But it was those crimson red lips that really brought the character to life, the same lips that would be kissed in the final moments of the closing scene.
I followed her onto the bus, sitting one seat back on the opposite side from her. I didn’t know how to put it to her yet. I would need to wait until she was alone, so that I could fully explain myself.
The bus stopped on a busy main street and she got up to alight. I followed her off and almost lost her straight away in the crowded shopping street. If I didn’t say something then, I thought, I could miss the opportunity altogether.
“Excuse me, madam?”
She twisted round, giving me a quizzical look.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…well, I’m writing a screenplay you see. I Would like you to be in it. I mean –”
“What?”
I felt my cheeks heat up and my heart begin to wallop against my breast bone.
She began to turn away.
“Wait, please. What’s your name?”
“None of your business.”
I grabbed her arm. .
“Hey, get off me!”
A passer by stopped.
“Are you okay?” he asked. She nodded, glancing at me and then hurrying off up the street.
I stared after her, ignoring the suspicious glares of the people around me. They didn’t understand what I was trying to do. Helena was the leading lady. I had to find someone to fulfil the role.
A flash of anger crossed through me. I wasn’t about to let my work fall apart, just because of one ignorant woman. I would have to make her understand.

Three days later, I was sitting on the Underground, heading into central London. Images of Helena were passing through my mind, but they were formless, like a spirit without a vessel.
I watched the people coming on and off at each station, but could not bring myself to look at their faces so I kept my eyes down and watched their feet instead.
It seemed to me that every pair told a story. In amongst a sea of shining leather, I spotted a pair of orange fluffy booties. They were worn and grass stained, their woollen tips encrusted with what I imagined to be festival mud. Further up the carriage, some beach-coloured sandals told of an Aztec adventure, their intricate design carved by some mountain top villager. Opposite to these were the plimsolls of a teenage rocker, decorated in felt tip obscenities, the quintessential ‘love, hate’ scrawled across the toe.
It was like a whole world of colour and meaning taking place at ground level. I felt I never had to look at their faces to know a part of their innermost person.
Then all of a sudden, a pair of rose red, Mary Jane’s, planted themselves in front of me.
I stared at them, caught in their glare like a cat in the headlights of a car.
They were just what Helena would wear.
Suddenly, I could picture her, striding into a crowded piazza. The crowd makes way and she stamps her foot, bringing the audience to attention, before dancing into the twilight.
Still mesmerised by the thought, I followed the shoes as they moved toward the door, hoping at last that I had found her.

By the time I got home, I felt like leaving the city, maybe even the country. Helena was still no more than a dream and despair was heavy in my heart. I drifted into a restless sleep and dreamt of being a passenger on a train that got narrower and narrower towards one end. I knew there was something I needed to do at the end of it but was terrified of the prospect.
Upon awakening, it occurred to me that I could leave London and start afresh. A move to new surroundings could reinvigorate my writing and perhaps spur me to pursue a new direction.
With the ambition fresh in my mind I packed some essentials and left the flat.
On the way to the tube station, I chanced upon a boutique clothing store. I forget the name of it. To be honest, I didn’t even notice, because displayed in the window was a red dress. It had a low cut, v- neck and a slit down the left thigh all the way to the hem.
My mind raced and suddenly there was Helena adorned in red, the dress swirling about her as she moved across the screen.
For a moment, I was suspended by indecision. On the one hand, I had the opportunity to leave this all behind, but on the other, this was a coincidence that I couldn’t ignore. I must have seen this dress for a reason. The woman who would buy it would be the one, I was certain.
A little farther up the street was a pavement café with two tables outside it. I sat down and ordered a coffee.

By the end of the afternoon, the dress remained, hanging lifelessly on a headless mannequin. I thought about buying it myself and offering it to a lady whom I thought would do it justice, but it didn’t seem right. Serendipity had landed me here and it would be the same influence that would bring about her fateful encounter with the garment.
The waiter had begun to stack the chairs in the cafe. I had long since finished my third coffee and my head juddered with caffeine, but I didn’t want to leave.
“Please sir, we are closing now” said the waiter, taking a chair from my table.
“I know, I know. I just need a bit longer.”
“I’m sorry, we are closing. Please.” He offered his hand to the street.
“Look!” I spat, turning to face him. The man was eastern European, with dark eyes to match his black stubble. “I just need a few more minutes. It’s very important.”
The waiter said something else, but I didn’t hear. When I glanced back to the store, I saw that the dress had gone.
I jumped up from my seat and ran across the road. After trying in vain to see through the cluttered window, I went to push the door, but it was locked. Inside, the shop was dark, so I knocked.
A figure approached and pointed at a small sign hanging on the door; ‘Closed.’
“Yes, I know. Can you tell me –” The figure walked off to the back of the store.
“Fuck!”
Pedestrians turned to look. I felt my heart begin to thump again and the blood well up in my face. I looked back across to the café and saw the waiter watching me with a frown. Stuffing my fists in my pockets, I walked off until I was out of sight and then stopped under the shelter of a bookstore canopy.
After a few minutes, the door of the clothes shop opened and a woman stepped out. She had short wavy hair, and was wearing a white cardigan and black skirt.
She laughed at something said by one of the staff inside. A brown paper carrier was in her hand.
She turned to go in the opposite direction from me and I followed.

The pine needles were catching on my hair and jacket as I stooped down behind a tree. It made me feel awkward and dirty, as though I were a tramp that lived amongst the bushes.
In contrast, she was out in the open, her dress fluttering in the warm breeze like a silken butterfly. She was Helena in all her glory.
It had been hard to sit through their whole meal together, watching as that man snuggled at her neck and poured her wine. I stopped myself short of getting rid of him there and then by telling myself that he was simply a bit part, a mechanism for the true romance that was to take place. I couldn’t afford to let my emotions ruin this opportunity.
I peeked through the leaves again and saw them exchange a kiss before she headed off through the park towards the tube station. This was my moment.

“Do you mind if I sit down?”
“No, I don’t mind.” She gave a look of incredulity, seeing as the carriage was virtually empty.
My eyes slid over the dress, its folds spilling across the edges of the seat. She looked relaxed, how Helena would after a long night dancing for the crowds.
“I’m so terribly tired,” I said. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
“Really?” I sensed her disinterest, but I didn’t let it deter me. I spilled all about Helena; her passion for dancing and penchant for the colour red. I also told her how she meets a talented writer and love blossoms.
She rolled her eyes. “How romantic.”
“Yes, but to be honest, it’s still a work in progress. I’m not sure how to end it yet.”
“Well, it’s nice to have a happy ending, but perhaps its a little clichéd.”
I sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. When I saw you buy that dress, I honestly thought you could play the part. Look, I even brought the shoes and lipstick to go with it.” I opened my shoulder bag and showed her the crimson lipstick and the Mary Jane’s from the previous women.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she said, jerking away from me.
“It became difficult to let go, you see. But you’re right, there’s no originality there. I think its time for a new project.”
The knife flashed a yellowy grey under the carriage lights. I caught her as she slumped forward, covering her neck with a handkerchief. Her mouth was open in a silent scream that possessed some comic timing with the screeching of the train’s brakes.
As it pulled into the station, I was surprised at my total lack of compassion. I had expected a little sadness at least, to herald the end of such a heart wrenching chapter. But this new character seemed to have taken hold very quickly. He was one without anguish and despair. Instead, there was only cunning and retribution.
Feeling inspired, I took out my notebook and scribbled a few lines. ‘The pity that tinged his gut was swiftly replaced by a steely indifference. He had become a new person, no longer bound by the restraints of his previous existence. He was a killer.’ I smiled. At last, the writing was back.