Short Story: A Friend For Margaret

Short Story: A Friend For Margaret

Margaret’s blood ran cold. She listened intently and heard the sound again. Somewhere outside in the cold and dark, that was definitely the icy chink of metal on metal. A gun? A key to open the front door?

She knew she shouldn’t have trusted that key- cutter last week, he probably ran a nice little sideline in selling duplicates to his thieving friends. But when the postman had stolen her front door key, she’d needed to change the lock, of course. He’d been another tricky customer, the postman. The sort of man who liked to cruelly tease defenseless old women. He’d somehow managed to get the key back into her bag after she’d had a new lock fitted, causing her all that expense. And he still had to nerve to smile and greet her every day.

Hardly daring to breathe, she pressed her ear to the front door but there was a long silence. Had she imagined it, as Jeff had always told her she did? Then a light knock on the wood right next to her face sent her leaping backwards, her heart pounding. No person with honest intentions came knocking after nine o‘clock, not even those persistent timeshare salesmen.

“Who is it?” she quavered, rigid with fear.

“It’s Mike, Mrs Harrison.”

Mike! One of her son’s friends, a quiet lad. He’d been part of the group of young men who often came to the flat, but since Dave had left for London, none of the boys visited any more. Perhaps he’d left something behind at Dave’s farewell party. Margaret turned the key, slid back the two bolts and unhooked the chain, then opened the door in relief, glad of the company.

“Mike! Nice to see you.” He came inside, swinging a bunch of keys. “How did you get here, I didn’t hear your motorbike?”

“I switched off the engine, and just free-wheeled the last bit. I didn’t want to disturb your neighbours.”

What a considerate boy. Some of Dave’s friends had been a bit loud and rough, but he seemed a nice lad.

“What brings you here, then?”

“I just wanted to look in and see how you were getting on. I thought you might be lonely all on your own, with Dave gone.”

Margaret’s throat went dry. So who else knew that she was now living alone? The man from the supermarket? That sly-mannered boy from the dry-cleaner?

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine, Mike. Can I make you some tea?”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Being all on your own probably isn’t good for you. I’m sure you could use a friend.”

A friend? What was he talking about? He couldn’t have been more than twenty five and she was nearly sixty, for heavens sake.

He followed her through to the kitchen and leaned back against the counter, watching her fill the kettle and set the tray with the tea things.

Margaret had never liked people looking at her and attention of any sort made her nervous. There was something about his penetrating dark eyes that suddenly made her anxious and she wished she didn’t have to almost brush against him as she reached for the cups and milk in the confined space. She felt her heart pounding, just as it used to before she’d consulted Dr Feeny, and remembered that she’d forgotten to take her pills that morning.

She’d always had difficulty with strangers, especially men. Jeff used to tell her that she had too many hang- ups about everything and maybe that’s why he left her all those years ago. But she couldn’t help the way she thought, and Jeff had been a very uncaring, insensitive man, like the rest of his loud- mouthed friends.

“Let’s go through to the sitting room,” she said, picking up the tray and walking ahead of him. In the split second that she realized that it was a stupid thing to do, to walk in front of a man who might be planning to attack her, the lights went out. All of them. The house was plunged into darkness and she dropped the tray with a small, ladylike scream.

“Just stay calm, Mrs Harrison,” said Mike in a quiet, level voice. She heard his heavy footsteps crunching on the broken china, coming towards her. “Nothing to be frightened of.”

How had Mike switched off all the lights? Jeff used to laugh at her fears, but she was sure that plenty of women felt the same as she did. To be attacked in one’s own home was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. And according to the papers, it happened all the time, everywhere. She followed the police reports and she knew the statistics. And now it was going to happen to her.

Margaret wished she could phone Dr Feeny right this minute. He was such a sensible man and although she was over the worst of her anxieties, she sometimes liked to call him and just listen to his calming advice. Breathe deeply. Lie down for a while. This feeling will pass. Of course the pills helped too, and the little mantra he taught her to chant whenever she had one those horrible panic attacks. I am strong, I am in control. So comforting and strengthening. Standing in the dark, trembling, she repeated it under her breath. “Everything is under control, I am good...” but it didn’t sound right and it didn’t work. She felt herself slowly falling apart at the edges.

“Please, don’t worry. I’ll see what the problem is, it’s could be just a fuse.”

Was she imaging the threat in his voice? Dave used to tease her about being such a nervous wreck and he must have told all his friends about her. Now this dreadful Mike had somehow fused the lights and was going to do his worst under cover of dark. Of course, that’s why he’d turned off his motorbike engine, to arrive silently at her apartment, with no witnesses.

But she knew her own house very well. She dashed out of the kitchen and hurtled up the passage to her bedroom. The pepper spraygun was in the bedside cupboard and she found it easily, although she nearly dropped it in her haste. Mike probably expected her to lock her door and was no doubt making plans to break it down as soon as he could, but she was no longer the silly woman she used to be. She was prepared. She used the Internet.

Of course, if this had been a real gun, she’d have been too frightened to pull the trigger. Killing someone was not what she could ever bring herself to do, even a potential attacker.

But pepper spray was different. And this was a big spray-container used as crowd control in the States, if the American advertisement was true. It claimed that American policemen used it all the time, leaving criminals gasping and choking while they were being handcuffed. Very useful. Margaret tiptoed back down the passage, muttering her mantra and strengthened by a wonderful feeling of power.

She saw the dark outline of Mike, slowly feeling his way down the passage towards her and before he could speak, she pointed the nozzle at him from three feet away and pressed hard. A fine mist of burning spray enveloped him and he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, making rather a horrible noise as though he was being strangled.

Margaret stood over him with a feeling of absolute elation. She was totally in control and it had been so easy! What had she been scared of? He clasped his face in pain and rubbed his eyes frantically.

“That’ll teach you to think of attacking a defenseless women,” she hissed. “Pretending to think I needed a friend! No more trouble from you, young man.”

“Water!” he gasped. “ I can’t see anything!”

“All in good time,” said Margaret, She found a reel of packaging tape and bound his arms behind his back. Then she wound tied his feet together and went to phone the police.

“I have a particularly nasty fellow here,” she said loudly. “Luckily I overpowered him before he could do me any real harm. He’s probably wanted all over this city so you can thank me for doing your job for you. Please come and take him away as soon as you can.”

“Mrs Harrison!” Mike whispered hoarsely. “You’re making an awful mistake. I’m just here to extend an invitation.”

“Invitation to what? A party for Burglars Anonymous?”

He spoke with difficulty, panting slightly. “It’s from our church, St Michaels. In my jacket pocket.”

Margaret leaned forward and extracted a brightly coloured pamphlet, reading it aloud with growing dismay.

“Lonely? Why not join our Outreach Club for Golden Oldies and make new friends? Have fun while meeting others in your community! We have something for everyone - knitting groups, quilt making, Scrabble afternoons, quiz nights and many other social activities.”

Mike sat up wearily, his eyes still closed. . “And I teach a self-defense class every Thursday evening but you’re probably not interested in that one.”

Margaret was silent for a moment. He was right about that.

“I might join the Scrabble group,” she said kindly. She owed him that much for taking the trouble to come around, didn’t she? But if he expected an apology he could think again.