Chapter 1
Richard's first two nights at Lucy Proctor's house passed sleeplessly, he found himself cocooned in a strange sense of unease. The war had meant that this new experience did not provoke fear within him, he knew fear alright, but unease certainly. The moment his few belongings had been unpacked and he was alone in the room that feeling had unravelled deep in his stomach. It was nothing like dread but a moment of doubt took hold and he wondered if this would really work? In that little, peeling room at the top of the boarding house he had been in his own world, now he was sharing it with someone else, a stranger. Not just any stranger, a woman, a prostitute.
On the second morning he had risen, dressed and tentatively entered the kitchen feeling somewhat lighter from the sun streaming through the window. Richard had heard Lucy rise some time earlier and he had sat on the edge of his bed listening to the sound of running water. Only when she was at a safe distance elsewhere in the house had he emerged to freshen up himself. Lucy was sat in much the same manner as the first time they had met, hair ebony locks wound into ragrolls and her face made up for the day. She still wore those cotton gloves and she was clad in a once luxurious, yet now well worn silk robe. At his entrance she looked up and smiled and he felt warmed between that and the sunlight coupled with the scent of bread baking in the oven. For a moment all seemed homely and normal, but in his brief time living in her house he was starting to sense that that wasn't quite the case.
"How is your bed, Richard?" She asked. "You have had two nights in it now, is it comfortable?"
"Hmm. Yes. Thank you."
"Good, I wouldn't want you sleeping in a bed with worn ticking."
Her manner of speech was almost motherly, she would look upon him in a kind of maternal aspect, her eyes always kind from the moment they had met. Suddenly that unease seemed to fade a little.
"Hmm. May. I sit. Down?"
"Of course, would you like something to eat?"
Richard wasn't sure if he was hungry, he knew he needed to eat but those churnings of his stomach would not let him. Besides, he couldn't eat in front of her and it would look rude for him to get up again and return to his room.
"Hmm. I might. Hmm. Just have. Coffee. If that. Is alright?"
"Of course." She looked at him a little harder in a way that made him nervous. "I shall be sweeping through the rooms in a short while, you will be alone in here if that is what you're worried about?"
"Hmm. I find. It difficult. To eat. You would find. It disconcerting."
"Then like I said, in a little while I will be out the room. Then you can eat and you don't need to be apprehensive." Lucy explained seriously. "We can't have you missing meals can we?"
A silence settled between them as Richard processed her words, he found it difficult for a time and he knew he was betraying this in his face. He was not offended, in a painful way it was touching from a stranger. Kindness, or at least practical kindness he often found difficult to process especially since he had lost Jimmy and Angela. It had been sometime since he had felt genuine kindness.
"Thank you."
The words were eventually spoken quietly and with some strain, but he meant both of them from the deepest part of him. Lucy didn't reply but her eyes lingered on him a moment like his sister used to look at him when they sat together sometimes. She rose and poured them both some coffee, placing it down by him in silence before moving to the stove. When the bread was pulled from it, the delicious smell intensified as did the pang of Richards hunger. Lucy sliced a few pieces and fetched some ham and butter and put them all before him.
"There you go."
"Hmm. Are you. Not. Eating?"
"Not just yet, I do the sweeping and dusting first."
Lucy started to leave the kitchen but at the last minute she turned again and said.
"Leave any clothes you need cleaning by the door and I'll see they get washed."
"Hmm. You don't need. To do. That." Richard said.
"I don't. There is a young woman down the road, I send it all out." She then laughed. "That makes me appear to be a real belle but she has two children to support and has no one to help her, she can do this at home and earn some money."
As the days went on Richard sensed a pattern in everything Lucy did. On his fifth morning in his new home he could almost recite her routine to himself. She would rise early, wash and rag roll her hair and set her face, prepare and serve breakfast, clean through the house and only then would she eat and dress. The final part of her routine would be to remove the gloves from her hands and release her hair. Richard never saw her before this preparation had begun and when it was all complete she seemed to take on a more confident yet softer persona, it seemed when all was just so around her that she became easier. She was more the Lucy Proctor whom he had been brought to see by Hobbs that afternoon.
At four o'clock every day she would put on her gramophone and light a cigarette, filling her sitting room with a thin film of smoke. Sometimes Richard returned to see her singing as she looked out the window or sewed. Lucy would drink no more than three glasses of whisky, her reasoning being 'it steadies the road but it does not make me stray'. On the eighth day Richard had been away for over twenty four hours and he returned fatigued and a little worse for wear. There had been a scuffle and his coat was torn. When he entered the house at just after lunch time he found her mid routine and full of purpose. She stopped her sweeping and looked at him, it was the first time he really realised there was some blood on his jacket sleeve.
Lucy said nothing but she came close to him and lifted his arm and then looked up at his lapel.
"This is torn. I shall mend it before I send it to be washed. Do you have another suit until then?"
"Hmm. Yes."
"Good." She replied and continued sweeping as though nothing untoward had occurred, Richard passed her and went to his room and when he closed the door a painful exhale emerged from deep in his chest. Lucy did not want to concern herself with his mask nor why he had blood on his suit, most people were either inquisitive or afraid but she was neither. It was like it was not relevant to her so she became indifferent to it.
Later that night as the music played and they were both sat in the sitting room Richard looked upon Lucy in a new way. To him she was somewhat of a curiosity, a woman bound in a rigid routine that gave her an odd inflection in her tone and a strange, deep look in her eye. He wasn't sure quite what it all meant or who she really was, but by the eighth day in her home he realised he would be comfortable with her. That made him contented.
Lucy poured him a whisky and seated herself opposite him having changed for the evening into a pale yellow dress and added something ornamental to her raven curls. Richard however had deconstructed his attire and he now sat with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his waistcoat unbuttoned as a tipsy contentment warmed him. The music was cheery and light and gave a nice hum to the atmosphere and the yellow light gave a sunset aspect to the room. This was the first night he'd been brave enough to sit longer than half an hour with her, it had been a little awkward to start with but Lucy gave him a few whisky's and he was happy to take them. The last person he'd shared drinks with was Jimmy on the last night of his life, he had drunk since then but it was swigs from his flask to offer temporary solace.
"Where you from Richard?" She asked.
"Hmm. Plover."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Just hmm. Over a year. I came. With. A friend."
"Feel free to invite your friends here if you like."
"Hmm. Thank you."
There was a silence and his eye dropped to his lap, she must have noticed for she replied.
"Do you still have your friends?" Richard slowly shook his head. "How's that then?"
"Hmm. They died."
"I'm sorry. I don't ask to pry, I promise. I have never been an intrusive sort. The fact is I would like you to be happy here, to feel at home and so if I ask something like this I promise it's so I can do that." She explained. "It took me a long time to find a way into contentment and now I have, I should like the same for you."
"Hmm. Thank you. You're. Very kind."
"I wouldn't say that." She laughed. "I have four brothers, they all live in Boston and I could only love one of them, the other three were bastards. I don't call that kind."
"Hmm. I have. A sister."
"Do you write often?"
"Hmm. No."
"Neither do I, not even to Elliot."
"Hmm. I suppose. When I. Moved. I started. Again."
"Family represents the old life."
Richard nodded and found himself looking right at her, their familiarity soothing his past melancholia from the brutal work he had just done. They talked for a while longer but then earlier than usual she retired to her own room. Richard stayed up to have another drink before heading to bed, he sat for a while remembering his early days in the city and what led him to live in this room. His reverie was disturbed by the sound of the front door opening and a man's footsteps walking up the hall, the second door opened and the noise became more acute. At last he heard Lucy's door open and her voice speaking low, a man's tones replied and then the door closed. He heard no more.
That was the first night he heard Ethan Guy's tread in Lucy Proctors house.
