Untitled

20 Minute story

The man has been standing outside my flat for two days now. He wears a
bowler hat and is holding a large thermometer. At first I assumed he
was merely doing a survey on climate change but now I am thinking, why
my flat and why now?

On the third day I take him out a hamburger. He accepts it graciously.
He is softly spoken and as he scoops up the last crumbs of bun with a
forefinger he tips his hat at me. I notice that the hat is ripped
slightly at its base and at that point I change my opinion about
him.

That night I can't sleep. I wonder if I should knock on a few doors,
speak to other residents, find out what they think about him. But I am
loath to take this course of action. People don't like me much round
here, my bruises scare them.

We have a lot on at work at the moment. My boss tells me it is time to
pull my socks up and then I see him sitting on the edge of one of
secretary's desks laughing with all his teeth out. It is rumoured that
he has a large penis. There are a lot of rumours in the office. It is
that kind of place.

I am tired when I return home that night but the man in the bowler hat
is still there. It is like he has never gone away. He probably
hasn't.

I put the tv on low and I open the curtain a chink and pull up a
chair.

I notice that is has started to rain. The rain is fine and almost
horizontal and the man with the bowler hat stands there. I want to go
out and ask him to come in. I don't have much but I could share it. I
could push two comfy chairs together and we could divide the box of
fish fingers in the freezer between us. A lot of people have
less.

I want to do this but I don't. Instead I clutch my knees.

The next day at work I overhear one of secretaries talking loudly
about an exercise to remove the bags under your eyes. You have to lift
the bottom eyelid up and not frown.

I sneak out to the toilet and try this myself and then the boss comes
in and tells me he wants to see me in his office.

"Are you trying to shaft me?" he says as I take a seat. He holds up a
pie chart with most of the pie missing. "Is that it?" he says. "You
want to bend me over this desk and take me from behind?"

He crumples the pie chart into a ball and tosses it into the
bin.

"Now get out and do it properly. I don't want to catch you loitering
in the toilet again. People talk."

The next day is Saturday and I don't have to go to work. I lie in bed
until midday thinking about this plan. I have two choices. I can either
do it or not.

I decide to do it.

The woman on the phone is helpful and I am pacing the floor when the
doorbell rings. A tall teenager is standing there. He passes me some
keys and holds out some paper on a clipboard for me to sign.

I sign and then I go outside.

The man with the bowler hat tips his hat again when he sees me. I
point at the car I have hired and ask him if he would like to come out
for the day with me.

"Ok," he says and we are off.

I drive us to the beach. It is not a beach-going day but I take us
there anyway.

I like the man in the bowler hat because he doesn't say anything. He
doesn't say look at the seagulls, look at the sand, look at the sea. It
takes a lot of courage not to say all that.

We take off our shoes and socks and walk down to the shore. The man in
the bowler hat is still clutching his thermometer and as we reach the
shore he crouches down and puts the end of the thermometer into the
water.

"What the temperature?" I ask.

"About 12 degrees," he says. Then he says it again as if it is just
about the best thing he has ever heard. "About 12 degrees."