The Key

I sat on the brown leather recliner, the one facing the window, in the dark. I hadn’t pulled the grey blackout blind yet, as I wanted to see my next-door neighbour, Louise, leave the house for work. She leaves every night at around 6:15 PM. She works nights as a carer in a home for the elderly.

As the red Ford Fiesta’s engine turned over, I remained seated, waiting for it to pull out of the driveway. When it did, the car sped off with Louise at the wheel. She was gone! I quickly jumped to my feet, my left knee cracked with inpatient’s. I swiftly made my way to the telephone table to grab my keys, Louises spare key beside them. As I stared the eyelet of the wrought iron key, it’s teeth began to move. ‘Take me!’ it mouthed. I looked up towards the sky, the white spackled ceiling in the way, and grabbed the key off the table with ferocity. I quickly opened my front door and slammed it shut behind me.

Instead of me going down my driveway, past a small red brick wall and up Louise’s driveway, I took the short cut and put my left leg over the wall that divided the two properties, then the right one. When I realised I was over, I looked at the key one last time before scrambling towards her front door and put it in the lock. I turned it clockwise and heard a click. I had gained entry to the house.

When I opened the door, the house the exact mirror of my own, I automatically put the keys on the telephone table. I closed the door quickly as Murphy, her dachshund, greeted me with a wag of the tail. I went down to his level and pat him gently on the head. He rolled over, wanting his belly scratched, so I proceed to get onto my knees and humour him. After all, with Murphy on my side, there would be no evidence I had been in the house, other than the obvious.

With Murphy tickled out, I ascend the creaky staircase one step at a time. It’s dark green worn carpet was covered in dog hairs. Murphy looked at me from the hall below, and happily walked towards the kitchen.

Once I was on the landing, the putrid orange wallpaper on the walls, I walked into the spare bedroom. These houses weren’t big, but they were sufficient for a couple of people to live in comfortably. I walked through the already open door, and there, I found them, ten or more boxes from Ikea. Louise was converting her spare bedroom, which before was just a junk room, into an actual bedroom for her niece.

Fiona, Louise’s niece, was in the foster care system. She was orphaned three weeks prior when her parents dark blue Mitsubishi was hit head on by a drunk driver. They both died instantly. Fiona never got to properly say goodbye. There was a funeral, but it was a closed casket affair. Fiona, who was fourteen years old, was in a group home, Louise desperately trying to gain custody. One of the criteria was a proper bedroom for her to sleep in. I had gone with her to the Swedish superstore, and hauled all the boxes up the stairs, yesterday. I wanted her to let me put them together there and then, but she needed to leave for work.

On one of the boxes, was a hammer, a flat head screwdriver and a Philips head screwdriver. They were all I needed to assemble the furniture…well I guess I needed the allen keys provided as well.

Ten hours later, I had everything assembled and in place. I even dressed the bed from linen I found in the hot press. I went down the creaky staircase several times to put the boxes into the small square garden, Murphy delightfully relieving himself at the same time. On my last trip down, I went back up with the hoover, to pick up the dust and tiny chips of wood that came from my good deed.

I looked at my watch. It was almost 7AM, almost time for Louise to come home. I quickly flew around the room, leaving no spec of dust unvacuumed. I then brought the hoover back and put it in its home before I gave Murphy one last belly rub and exited the house, making sure to lock it behind me.

When I got back into my own home, I went straight into the shower. Making flat pack furniture was sweaty work. Then I went to bed.

For the next few days, I ignored Louise’s calls and texts. I let the doorbell ring. I let this go on for a solid week.

As I sat on the brown leather recliner, the one facing the window the next Friday, I witnessed a special sight. I saw Louise bring her niece home for the very first time. I could hear screams of joy and happiness through the poorly built wall between our houses. I smiled, and dozed on the couch. My work good deed was done!a