What’s In A Name?
In this short story, a self-centred character gets his comeuppance. Alex thinks he has a perfect right to spy on his university girlfriend, especially as she wants to break off the relationship – but she is smarter than he thinks!
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Alex sat down. He chuckled as he stared across the park at the row of Victorian townhouses two hundred yards away, only partially obscured by the trees. It would have been easier if he’d left it a couple of weeks as the bare branches would have made her flat even easier to view. But he had to know now: tonight. It was only a one-bedroomed flat on the second storey, so how the hell could she have someone legally staying over? Someone not him, that is.
He’d kept his voice very calm and level when she told him about ‘Sam’ – though he’d stopped listening as soon as he heard the name. Not interested in explanations, he never had been. He had thought she was the one. He’d taken it slow – bloody hell, there had been six (six!) evenings out before he’d even suggested that they took it further than a good-night kiss. And even then, he hadn’t demurred when she’d said she needed more time to think about it.
He’d even upped his game: the Fitzwilliam Arms might have passed for a pub once, but now it was so up-market he’d had to leave his denim jacket behind. He was wearing it now – he’d worn it every day since he’d got to Uni two-and-a-bit years ago. Comfy. Like a second skin. His first girlfriend hadn’t understood of course. Came down to breakfast wearing it herself! The University said he’d over-reacted, but it was his jacket. In the end, he’d done the written apology as required: no option really as it was either that or be sent down. But Mandy had still insisted on being moved to different accommodation, and ever since had refused to have anything to do with him – even after he’d tried explaining: Dad had given it to him. It was the last thing Dad had given to him before he died, so it was obvious he was going to be attached to it. And now, sitting on the park bench on a chilly evening half-way through term, he pulled it round himself as he prepared to wait.
He knew exactly which window to watch. From right to left: kitchen, lounge-diner, bedroom. A bedroom he’d hardly been in, even though they’d been going out for nine months. OK, with a break for the summer while she went off with her family. His summer had been spent as a temporary worker at Aldi – mum couldn’t afford to keep him now dad had gone. It stopped him being bored, but being polite to idiots who didn’t know how to wear a mask, or how far two metres was, became a pain. The manager told him to ignore the flouting of the rules as he was driving customers away, but then other customers complained to him about those not following the rules! Talk about not being able to win. But, back at Uni, he thought he was onto a winner. She had, after all, insisted she was pleased to see him; but, despite what everyone else was doing, she didn’t think they should break the lock-down rules. They couldn’t; but she could with Sam.
Yesterday, he’d risked a bit of a row, but he had managed to get into that bedroom. Five minutes with her laptop was all the time he needed while she’d gone to the loo – sorry: toilet. By the time she returned, he was prepared to be all apologetic, say that he’d go and he hoped she’d have a good time with Sam – whenever he arrived. She’d let him go. Not even a kiss on the cheek. He’d pretended he was fine. He walked across the park with not a single glance at the flat, just looking at his phone. Everything worked perfectly. Now he was going to know everything – most things. She must be the only person he knew who got changed in the bathroom: perhaps it wasn’t quite hot enough to sleep naked, but neck to floor pyjamas? Anyway, he was here again, twenty-four hours later, two hundred yards away: he could see and hear everything he needed to. At the moment, in the dusk, she was wandering round by herself – lights on and curtains open. Looked like she was sorting food for her and Sam – he watched her peering out across the park. He smiled again; confident he was invisible.
Ah-ha! Her doorbell. She disappeared from the kitchen: it was one of those phone things. He could have fixed that, too, if he’d wanted, but she’d probably have made a fuss, so he just stuck with Plan A. It would be enough. Not long to wait now. At least he hoped it wasn’t long: did she have to go down to fetch this Sam?
‘Hi Alex!’
What! How the hell?
‘Yes, we know. We’ll even sit in front of my laptop – my laptop, Alex – and talk to you.’
Two faces. Both female.
‘Meet Sam: my cousin and in my bubble. You really should have known, Alex,’ she said, ‘that “Sam” could be a she. Of all people, you should have thought of that. I mean, is “Alex” short for “Alexander” or “Alexandra?”’ The two girls looked at each other, smiled. His girlfriend looked back at him.
‘I was a fool not to work you out sooner. Everyone else should obey the rules, but you think you’re above them. Especially Covid rules. You live apart from me, so we shouldn’t be together. But you’ve been stalking me ever since we got back. Mandy warned me! I’ll make it as clear as I know how: we’re no longer a couple. You and me are through. Finished. Over. I won’t ask you to remove your malware from my laptop. Sam will deal with that – Sam and her colleagues. You’ve been reported, Alex. I think you should look up – not at my window. The path, Alex, the path.’
It was as he looked up from his phone the first Policeman said: ‘Alex Winsor? We’d like a word.’