Rivers of mist glided down the empty London streets, as I opened the bedroom window to let in the fresh early morning air. Michael was still sound asleep, blanket covering him up to his chin. Curls of blond hair spread over the pillow to frame a face that was handsome in a very masculine way, with high cheekbones, a Roman nose and a stubble of beard, that made him look a couple of years older than his 27. The edges of his lips were slightly curled, as if he was having a beautiful dream, that made him smile inside and look so... innocent. I ran my hands through my long auburn hair, to take it out of my eyes, and thought about my husband and all the times when I'd woken up to the feel of his lips covering mine, him kissing my temple as gently, as a butterfly lends on a flower. I mused upon sliding back into bed, to rest my head in the curve of Michael's neck, and maybe giving him a few kisses and tickles to wake him up, but decided it was only fair to let him sleep in late, as he had a day off work. So I wrapped myself in a soft red dressing-gown, with some oriental motives in gold and silver, and quietly, on tip-toe, slipped out of the room. I heard Michael stir in his sleep, but he did not open those green, green eyes of his, so I closed the door behind me and went down the stairs, to the kitchen.
Bast, our cat, was already up and walking around, pondering over what mischief to do, but came to me the moment she heard my footsteps. I picked her up in my arms, ran my fingers through her silky fur and smiled, as she purred in delight, then put on the coffee machine and the kettle. Bast made small noises of protest, when I put her down on the floor, but then ran off to that postponed mischief, which was probably going to result in my having to spent half the afternoon elbow deep in domestic cleaning, or which was worse - in yet another carpet cleaning "adventure". I sighed and shrugged, then proceeded with making coffee and boiling water for a pot of tea. I was thinking about some "English Breakfast" tea, with sweet honey and sugar cubes, and a warm breakfast... That I was in no way preparing myself! Ordering sounded pretty tempting, but I decided against it and, after a fast shower and applying some light make-up, so that I don't scare the neighbours, I slipped out of the front door and headed for the nearby Bakery to buy some fresh muffins, bread and croissants.
Mist covered the streets and the few cars that passed me by had their head-lights on. An old man in a worn out coat was walking his dog, a small Westie that looked like this was its first time out and it was still seeing the world through the innocent eyes of a child. That made me smile, so I said "Good Morning" to the man, as we walked past each other. He nodded in return, looking puzzled by the fact that I'd been kind so early in the morning. If my Mum was here, she'd have said that people "have forgotten their manners", but as I was alone, I kept the comment to myself. No point in looking weird by talking to myself in the middle of the side-walk, right?
"Mrs. Shaw's Bakery & Tea" was not far from where we lived. It's 5 minutes away, if you fall into a stride, and less then 10 if you choose to walk slowly. I did the second, taking in the silence, the lightening sky and the cool touch of the mist. Leaves had fallen off the branches, covering the ground with a beautiful carpet, that brought a little smile to my lips. There were almost no people around. I felt as though I was alone... And wished that Michael was here with me to share this moment. How did the song go? "Making memories of us..."? That's exactly what I wanted to do right now...
A silhouette in a long black coat, wearing an old-fashioned hat, came out of the mist and headed straight towards me. I couldn't see his face, but something in his posture, his shoulders, the way he carried himself filled me with dread and made me think of Robert Louis Stevenson's "Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll & Mr.Hyde". Especially of Mr. Hyde. Shivers ran down my spine and for a moment there I wasn't sure what to do... Screaming just for the sake of reacting? If the man wasn't dangerous, just creepy-looking, I would feel very silly afterwards. On the other hand, if he was just what he appeared to be...
Time slowed down and so did my steps. He started walking faster. The distance between us faded faster and faster, my heart beating like some frantic cloak, about to explode any moment. I reached for my phone, thinking of calling Michael...
...then Miss Picksby came out of a side-street, big groceries-bag in one hand and a dangerously looking umbrella in the other. She fixed her gaze on me, made a face that was half-dislike, half-delight, and rushed me like a predator. The man in the coat did not slow down his pace, so he bumped right into Miss Picksby.
And then all Hell broke loose.
She turned on him and lifted her umbrella, determination in her eyes. The man, not so dangerously looking any more, opened his mouth to apologise, or say something, anything in his defence, but it was too late. Her Fury had already been unleashed.
Smack, went her umbrella. Smack. Smack, smack, smack.
In less then a minute, I was already feeling sorry for the poor guy. I mean, he may be creepy, but even he doesn't deserve such treatment! But cross Miss Picksby... And that's what happens!
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned... Sort of.
By the time my phone rang and the display showed it was Michael, Miss Picksby had already chased the poor beaten-up guy away and was taking pride in saving me from "that pervert". I was wondering why no one came to save him from her?
How scary can an old lady with an umbrella seem to the casual bystander?
A lot.
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