Lick You Later

The first time in many years that I wake up to something vaguely affectionate licking me and it turns out to be a dog. I lay on my side in bed as Zac sat with his wet nose nudging my elbow. I got up to pee and remembered that dogs need to pee too, Christ I’m an airhead, the poor sod must be busting. Over the course of the morning it occurred to me that dog’s are in fact much like humans. As I prepared breakfast, I realized that Zac might like some too. I didn’t even have a lead for him although I wasn’t even sure whether he needed one. I found an old piece of rope and proceeded to attach it to his collar. It was only then that I found the fob around his neck that displayed his name and his owner’s address and phone number. I’m such a dope.

Why would anyone want to live here? It’s dreadful. These aren’t proper houses for proper people. Do people live in bungalows or just hole themselves up in them to die? I am sure that a person who chooses to live in a bungalow has consciously decided to cut off an entire dimension of their personality, the ambition part I suppose. It’s all just front and back, no up and down. I know I live in a one-up one-down place but it’s like I have the choice of altitude. I couldn’t live in one of these places, there’s nowhere to hide. I mean can you imagine actually living with someone in one of these boxes? You have a row, where do you go to sulk and mutter under your breath?

I arrive at the front door of probably the most respectable of any of
the bungalows in this post-apocalyptic suburban nightmare and encounter my first problem; I don’t have a key. The back of the house looks just as unpromising. All the windows are closed and the back door is locked. The key is in the lock, just to add to the frustration. I go down into the garden strangely shaped like a dog’s head and round the gravelled side path. Thank you. A window half opened. I peel the window open and hoist myself up, ignoring the piercing pain in my knee as it rests on the sill and step onto the leather sofa under the window. Once in I simply sit on the sofa and catch my breath.
”Hello dear.”
”Fuck a duck.” I nearly jump clean out of my makeup. An old lady is
sat beside me on the sofa glued to some shopping channel on the
television. When my heart has stopped galloping I take a closer look
at her. She hasn’t even bothered to turn and make eye contact with
me.
”Take anything you like, except the telly.”
”I’m not…”
”Oh and the toaster, I like toast.”
”I’m not a burglar Mrs…who are you anyway?”
”Williams, Glenys Williams. Are you a friend of wossisname?”
”Yes I suppose I was.” My tone dropped and Mrs Williams must have
sensed something was wrong; she turned the sound down on the
television two notches. I explained about the buggy.
”That’s a shame. There were two men round here earlier looking for
him too. One of them smelt like a dead person.” Mrs Williams turned
the television back up again and I suddenly remembered Zac was outside. Wearily he dragged himself up the steps and slinked off towards his bed, like me he had obviously not slept well.
“Do you live here then?”
“At the moment I am. My house is over the road.”
“Why aren’t you living there?”
“I don’t have any furniture.” I left it at that having established she didn’t require any long-term care. Time for a nose.


The bedrooms were tidy and fashionably decorated according to television makeover chic. The kitchen cupboards were full of healthy and well-chosen food. The bathroom was spotless apart from what I could only assume was Mrs Williams bedraggled kit bag. The small study was lined with brimming shelves and bookcases three deep in assorted volumes of all kinds of books, some I know, some I wish I did. The desk in the corner of the room bristled with papers and notes. Underneath a computer sat humming a flat tune to itself on the floor.

I’ll level with you. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for. I could search the web history but frankly I’m not that nosy and I quite liked the guy, alright, more than quite liked and I don’t see the point of tarnishing him in my mind. We all look at cranky stuff right; it’s human nature. A finger click is a thousand times easier than turning a page. I decide to search for documents and in a few seconds I have all the documents that have been created in the last month. The volume amazes me. The file count is twenty-three, almost one for each day. I click one entitled “Betterware From Heaven” and soon I discover a few things about Mrs Williams that make her presence in this house clear. It would seem that he knows Mike. Ray knows Mike and I wonder if he knows where he is. On the way up here, I passed Ray’s flat. He won’t let me have a key; he’s weird like that; thinks I’m gonna move a yukka plant in there or something. I rang the bell but there was no answer and his van was missing. Now I’m really not worried about him. He could be anywhere in Northern Europe and probably is.

I’m not sure which one to open so I select all the documents, print them en masse and go and make a cup of tea for me and Mrs Williams. When I return, page after page is pouring out onto an accumulating slab. I pick of the top sheet and place my finger on the top of the pile indicating where I should return the page. It’s the first page of one of the documents and it is entitled “Geraniums”. A forward glance tells me that my sister Trudie figures somewhere in this piece and I begin to read from the beginning.