The man in the van

It was dark. And cold. I clutched my coat around me. I walked in the dappled fug of the street lights.

The van slowed down as it drove past me. I focussed on staying warm. Ignoring it. It went past. I turned into the side street. Hoping.

Yet somehow knowing.

I had been here before. It only had to go right at the bottom of the other street, right again and it would meet me where that street intersects with this side street.

I walked on. I could hear footsteps behind me but I daren’t look. They might help. They might not. I walked slowly.

I saw its headlights just as I got to the junction. The van turned into the street. It slowed down. It was right behind me. Its head lights following me. Tracking me.

There were houses on this street. I could knock on a door, ask for help. Say what. There’s a man in a van following me. I’m not sure what they would do.

He would simply drive away anyhow. Wait for me in the next street. My husband was at home but I could hardly call him.

I could still hear the footsteps behind me, perhaps they would help. Perhaps there was safety there.

Perhaps not.

I walked. He drove. Quietly, slowly behind me. I walked just in the beam of his headlights. Deliberately. I felt in my coat for my gloves. I tried to forget the inevitable.

I could no longer hear the footsteps behind me. They must have turned up the alley. It occurred to me then that I should have done that. Taken the long way home. The safe way home.

Then he said something. It barely registered. Something like, ‘come here love’ perhaps.

I was momentarily rooted to the spot. I turned to look at him but was blinded by the lights. I felt my feet approaching the van even though I didn’t really want to. There was an inevitability to it.

What was I doing?

I saw his face. Looked into his eyes. I wanted to see kindness. It was not in the gaze that met mine.

It was quick. The neck was broken, the blood drained from the body in a matter of seconds.

I reached in and switched off the vehicle and took the keys. A trophy. The others said I shouldn’t. It was too risky,  but had they read the conviction rates.

I told myself it wasn’t my fault.

He should not have been driving alone at night. He should not have driven in the vicinity of a woman. He had most certainly approached me. He was not wearing a scarf. In fact his shirt did not even have a collar. What century was he living in?

I found it hard to explain why I did not want dinner again. I hid the keys in a pot with all the other keys.

I tell myself one day I will stop. But I know that I will not.

The suits of old men

Olive shirt,
Dark green trousers
Jacket, brown tie

In this heat?

He hobbles towards me
Clack, clack, clack
Perhaps it’s a war wound

‘Not all of them’
The words ring in my head
Its how I was raised

I smile at him

Welcomed
He smiles back
The twinkle in his eye

Not gone yet

What does that twinkle mean
Cleavage
I don’t know

Him

What if to somebody
He is him
The one who did

It.

It could be so many things
A grope in the dark
An unwanted hand on the shoulder

Or worse

How can I know
Blue suit, Brown suit,
Grey suit, suited

In this heat?

Did he take photographs when no one knew
Put them all round the office
Was it him?

Once

Did he court Judy
Then marry Jane.
I am still smiling

Clack, clack, clack

He is getting closer
I want to turn away.
To yell and scream and throw things

For her sake

But its like armour
That formal attire
The suits of old men

In this heat?

Its how I was raised
I have no defence

I have no evidence

I doubt

And he,
He walks on by
Unmolested, unchanged,

Uncharged

And me,
Me, I walk on
I am undone, unstilled

Unsated.

By the suits of old men.