In his footsteps

Mr Green walked down to his postbox but still it wasn’t there. Seven days he thought, two more and he could officially complain according to Post Office policy. He walked back up his path and bent down to pull out a new dandelion that had sprung up. Bill had always been a friendly postman and never late but he couldn’t help but distrust him lately. Twice in one month he’d had mail come late or not at all and twice it had been opened already. So Mr Green dedicated the beginning of his retirement to the surveillance of Bill.

He had ordered a new magnifying glass out of one of those floppy magazines free in the Sunday papers as his final test for Bill, commenting to his wife after he didn’t really need it. However, it was essential for his enquiries and so he excused himself of the expense and threw his old one away.

Trying three times in the past to set up his street’s own neighbourhood watch, he had failed leaving only whispers and jokes behind about his nosiness. It had crossed his mind that these recent activities had been an extension of this, but Mrs Green dismissed it telling him to stop being so silly.

Lately he had awoken exactly half an hour earlier than usual, so he could wash and dress before Bill turned into the street. Frightened of being caught, he had abandoned the idea of using binoculars and instead given his glasses an extra clean. Mrs Green disliked this recent change but said nothing, choosing to go back to sleep instead.

Beaming down from the far window Mr Green would count the houses as he approached his letter box. He had only a few minutes each day to survey living so close to the end of the street and so opened his eyes extra wide to make sure he took it all in. It infuriated him most that Bill would turn his back to the house at the very second he posted their mail. He was never fully able tell if he’d held anything back.
“He’s done it again” he’d say waking Mrs Green.

After watching a programme recently on the Discovery Channel named ‘Liars and Cheats: body language’, he felt confident he could have known if he was guilty or not just by his facial expressions and movements. Sometimes if Mrs Green slept long enough he’d wait and watch Bill deliver to the odd numbers across the road, attempting to test his new found abilities. Though always remarking it was useless without his binoculars.

The eighth day came and he awoke slightly before his alarm feeling his own excitement in the air. Mrs Green routinely sighed and rolled back over, giving out an extra huff it seemed. Mr Green appeared to swell with apprehension and pride at how far he had come with his enquires. Yet nothing came and nothing gave Bill away. Tomorrow was Bill’s final chance he told Mrs Green under tense breath.

That night Mrs Green urged him to let it go for his own sake, but he refused muttering about morals and order. Mrs Green was never able to give him children and she thought now how much they both needed them.

He twitched all night. Watching TV he twitched. Reading he twitched. Even eating he twitched so much he gave himself hiccups, exaggerating these twitches. Mr Green could not sleep either. He lay in bed fantasising about catching Bill, being thanked by the whole street for his braveness. Mrs Green couldn’t take his fidgeting anymore and said it might be better if he went downstairs and he agreed. Finally, he fell asleep long after various versions of this fantasy had continued playing out as he lay uncomfortably but alertly on their sofa.

The final morning came and Mrs Green turned off the alarm in Mr Green’s absence. She hesitated wondering if Mr Green was up. Instead she got up herself and went and stood in place of Mr Green, placing herself in the exact spot his footprints had indented over the days into their well tendered carpet.

She did not wash and dress like Mr Green but waited. Half an hour passed and there was no sign of Bill at all. No noise could be heard downstairs and she felt relieved that he’d finally taken her advice to let it go. As she came away from the window Bill turned the corner. The same excitement that gripped Mr Green each day filled her whole body as she studied in his place.

Bill stopped momentarily at the house before fumbling in his bag. He began digging deep down as though he had something he wasn’t sure was really there. She wanted to walk away and remove herself from the crime, but stuck in Mr Green’s footsteps she found she couldn’t stop watching. Bill, chewing his lip and looking both ways stuffed a black parcel into his pocket. Mrs Green gasped and went back to bed.

An hour later Mr Green woke aggrieved. He cursed himself for not bringing his alarm clock with him and set about walking down to the post box. Two white letters addressed to him lay inside and he huffed back missing several new dandelions in his anger. Mrs Green came down and consoled him, apologising for falling back to sleep and not waking him.

“Did you see anything? Did you see...?” he asked, studying her face.
“Oh not much, I think I saw him at next door very quickly”, she said chewing her lip and, looking around.
Mr Green smiled, picking up the phone to report the crime.

I know I shouldn't but...

I have decided to post some of my older short fiction. Mainly because I am actually half proud of them compared to my newer, rushed work and partly because I know deep down no publishing company wants them! They also remind me a wonderful and exciting fourteen weeks attending Shakespeare&Co workshops in Paris. So if anyone's interested here goes...