11

The next few days passed quickly and smoothly, steeped in a contentment that had previously been banished from Joseph Lee’s life. He no longer felt the need to plug his days with monotonous activities and mundane tasks to pass time and skip from tedious minute to tedious minute. In the mornings, he woke with a smile and not a start. His dreams were obscure, meaningless and light. The images of Jennifer’s slaughtered corpse no longer entered his sleeping mind, nor did they find their way into his vegetated waking state.

He didn’t stare meaninglessly anymore and didn’t force his mind from reality. Everything he did, every activity he engaged in, was no longer overshadowed by boredom and feelings of pointlessness. He began to enjoy things again, engaging with the world.

He also found the creativity to paint and write again. A flood of inspiration entered his mind, expanding throughout the hollow void. He wrote sonnets and odes to his own depression, allowing his previous feelings of hopelessness to fill out the pages. He also wrote limericks and comical couplets while drunk and merry one night. He painted pictures of the view beyond the tall windows, the street, the gardens, the opposing houses. He drew inspiration from pictures and magazine covers, even sketching a portrait of a soap star he found on the front of a magazine that had dropped through his door.

He painted Zala Lechnen, changing her appearance with shades and marks that linked more to her warm personality than her striking beauty, ensuring memories of Jennifer stayed away. One morning, as he looked out of the expansive studio windows with the sun beaming a bright orange glow over the street, he watched Zala sunbathing on her front lawn, taking in as much of the autumn sunshine as she could. He painted her as she lay, surrounded by the leafy garden and the backdrop of the house. She was the centerpiece of the painting, her golden skin glowing, her glossy hair glittering, her slender body relaxed and reclined.

He hung that painting and a few others on the walls of the studio, bringing color back into the bright room. He also rehung some of his favorite artwork to help decorate the walls, making sure that Jennifer appeared in none of them. The beautiful Austrian—who had inspired his sudden change of mood—had been to see him every day. She came to his house for coffee and chit-chats and he repaid the gesture. They shared mindless banter and swapped opinions on everything from pop music to politics. They had a lot of interests in common, and what they didn’t have in common they teased each other about.

Lee also spent time with Riso, seeing the giant after work and enjoying the odd beer with him. He also spent another night at the Lechnens’ house after being invited over for dinner. While sharing another hefty meal, he dug deeper into the big man’s past and shared some of his own. The more time he spent with Riso, the more he liked him. Despite their growing friendship, Riso still didn’t know about Jennifer. Zala decided against telling her husband about their conversation, insisting personal information that affected someone’s past and psyche as much as Jennifer’s death had was something not to be shared. If Riso was to know, it would have to come from Lee’s mouth, but he hadn’t said a word. He wasn’t ashamed or scared of what the man might think—he seemed just as caring and compassionate as Zala—but something else swayed him.

It was easy to talk to Zala about it. She was warm and inviting and had also told Lee about her own past. But something told Lee that the same talk with Riso would somehow push them further away, turning their friendship into an uncomfortable one.

The day after their chat, Zala had taken Lee to the supermarket to stock up. Lee kept his load light, buying only bare necessities. Zala shopped like a woman possessed, buying masses of meat, protein-rich processed dinners, and the odd sugary treat for a husband with a ravenous appetite. With each passing day, each visit, and each trip, Lee’s mood lifted further. The lighter mood was also a boost to his personal hygiene. He now showered and changed into fresh clothes daily. He no longer slept on the couch soaked in his own bodily fluids. He cleaned the house regularly and even began to eat normally.

His mood lifted sporadically every time he received a smile or cheeky grin from Zala. He adored her and she warmed his heart—half of him wanted her and lusted after her, the other half refused to get emotionally involved with a married woman and destroy two friendships that had helped him so much. He was in a happy limbo where he could enjoy her company and her friendship. Anything else could damage that, or break up a marriage and drag Lee back into a relationship that he wasn’t ready for.

One Friday night over dinner, Lee and Riso decided that they would work on both of their gardens over the weekend. Riso had the weekend off from work and the state of the garden had been bugging him. Lee wanted to spend more time with his new friends. To ready the ground for next season, they would literally tear it apart; strip it of all the dying flowers, booming weeds, and dead grass and then let the weather do its work for a few months.

When Joseph Lee woke on the Saturday morning, he woke with a smile on his face and memories of a beautiful dream still fresh in his mind. He had dreamed he was flying over the top of his house, circling around it. Spinning and twisting in the air, he edged his way away from his house and hovered over the garden of the Lechnens’ house, pushing through the wind like a swimmer through water.

He landed on the ground, his body falling effortlessly into a sun lounger. He began to speak. He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to and doubted if anyone was there, but in the dream it felt normal. It felt good. He spoke for several minutes, relaying his deepest emotions and most twisted depressions with a sense of serenity, the smile constant on his content face. He then moved again.

He was in a car, watching the world pass by. He watched people in their gardens, lighting barbecues and exchanging conversation. He noted distant fields filled with human-ants playing football or rugby and he studied the exterior of many shops and restaurants, all filled to the brim. All the while he was still speaking, telling someone of his fears, relating personal things about himself he was sure he would never tell another human being.

He awoke during the car journey, a sense of delight still warming him. He wondered about the dream, and he immediately contemplated his words and who they were spoken to. Zala was the first suspect to jump into his mind but his dreaming state had made no announcement of her presence, even as he floated over her house, he hadn’t recalled seeing her or thinking about her. He had been the only person in the dream, the others mere passing scenery that only existed for his amusement. He was the only person in the world yet he was merely a spectator.

Clearing his throat of a dry tingle, he shrugged off the dream and lifted his legs out of bed, swinging his body after them. He didn’t care what the dream was about. It made him feel good, and that’s what mattered. There was no better way to start the day.

He showered with the radio on, singing along to the songs even though he was hearing them for the first time. He climbed out of the shower, danced naked in front of the mirror, laughing at himself as he shaved. He ran down the stairs, jumped and slid across the laminated hallway floor, surfing on socks all the way to the carpeted floor of the living room. Flicking on the television, a habit he hadn’t broken or even become aware of, he entered the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and rummaged through the cupboards for his breakfast.

He fried two eggs and two rashes of bacon, layered them between two slices of toast, squirted on a dollop of ketchup and dug in, walking and eating on his way to the living room. When he finished eating, he boiled the kettle for the second time and made himself a cup of black coffee, which he sipped as he sat on the sofa. His almost euphoric state of mind had decreased within the hour and settled into a generic feeling of satisfaction. He was still watching television and enjoying his third cup of coffee when the door sounded.

He answered it with a smile. Orange sunlight glared at him when he opened the door. The air was light and cool, the temperature mild and moderate, but enough to warm his skin in direct sunlight.

“Hello, there.” The man in front of him wore a suit and held a clipboard. When he tilted his head to look down at the papers attached to the wooden board, Lee noticed a large bald spot on his head. “Mr. Lee, is it?”

Lee’s smile began to fade. Strangers who wore suits and called you Mr. tended to want to sell you something. “That’s right,” he said bleakly.

The man held out his hand. “James Holdsworth,” he said with a grin.

Lee looked indifferently at the hand, his arms folded across his chest, before turning his attention back to the suited man’s face. “What do you want?”

“Just a moment of your time,” the man replied, unperturbed.

With his arms still folded across his chest in a defiant, defensive manner, Lee nodded and raised his eyebrows.

“May I ask how long you have lived in this area?”

“How do you know my name?” Joseph suddenly wondered.

“Well,” the man said in a jolly manner. “You are registered to vote, your details were provided by—”

“Vote?” Lee spat out the word with disgust. He looked the man up and down to confirm his suspicions. “You’re a fucking politician aren’t you?”

The smile dimmed on the man’s face. “I’m your local member of parliament,” he confirmed.

“My local member of parliament?”

“For this district, yes,” the politician tried to regain his composure, clawing it back with each spoken word.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

He laughed subtly. “Well, I don’t make a point of meeting everyone in the area,” he said with a chuckle. “I do my best to help out every member of the community, of course, but—”

“Uh-huh,” Lee interjected disinterestedly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve wrote to you before.” He remembered. “I was being harassed by the police, my local community, and the press. I wrote to you to ask for help.”

“Unfortunately politics is a very busy lifestyle. I’m here now, perhaps I can help,” he said in a practiced tone.

“You want to help now?”

Holdsworth nodded.

“You didn’t give a shit a year ago when the people of this town, your people, harassed the fuck out of me, but you want to help now?”

Holdsworth grinned and nodded.

Lee frowned, released a long sigh. “There’s an election coming up, isn’t there?”

“Well, actually, yes there is.” He coughed, quickly changed his tone, and produced a leaflet. “I wonder if I could show you this. We have some big changes in mind for this town; we have many schemes in—”

“I’m not interested.”

“Perhaps I can help you with your problem?” Holdsworth offered. “I do apologize if I never replied to a request of yours initially. May I ask what it concerns?”

“Why are you door-knocking anyway? Isn’t that below you?”

“Of course not, I always like to engage with my public.”

“Yet you only engage with them when you want to be re-elected.”

“You have a cynical mind, I see.” His tone was pleasant, hoping to restore some friendliness to the conversation.

“Cynical? No. Realistic. As far as I’m concerned, all you politicians are a bunch of lying, cheating, crooked wankers. You spout a ton of bullshit about lowering taxes and crime and fixing the healthcare system, but when you get in power, you do bugger all about anything. We don’t live in a democracy anymore, we have the right to vote, fair enough, but what exactly is the point? It’s always a vote between dickhead number one and dickhead number two. Which one are you?”

Holdsworth’s face contorted into a mixture of confusion and regret. “I’m running on behalf of the Liberal Demo—”

“Ah,” Lee interrupted, nodding. “A lib dem. That would make you dickhead number three. You see, you’re just the same as dickheads one and two, you just share a few, ever-so slight differences of opinion. One likes fish and chips. Two tucks into some bangers and mash. You lot prefer salad. You all still eat out of the gutter.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re a bunch of useless, cheating, conniving—”

“Look, Mr. Lee, I didn’t come here to be insulted—”

“Then you shouldn’t have fucking come here, should you? I didn’t ask you to. I hate you people. You make me sick.”

Anger and frustration was building inside the MP but he did his best to push it aside. “Clearly you won’t be voting,” he said as calmly as he could.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“The way I see it, all politicians are one of three things: liars, crooks, or pricks.”

“I disagree.”

“You would, but you have to be one, or all. I’ll make you a deal, if you tell me which, I’ll promise to vote for you.”

The MP sighed and nodded to himself. “I really think I should be going now, Mr. Lee,” he said in a defeated tone. “It was nice talking to you.”

“A pleasure I’m sure.”

James Holdsworth walked solemnly across the short driveway before disappearing around the corner, on his way to pester the neighbors.

A loud voice blasted across the silent street, immediately grabbing Lee’s attention and making him jump: “Good morning!”

Riso Lechnen stood on his driveway with his hands on his hips. Lee acknowledged the Austrian with a welcoming wave and they both walked toward each other. They met at the end of Lee’s driveway.

“Hey Riso,” Lee grinned as he shook his neighbor’s hand. “How’s things?”

“Good, good,” he boomed. His eyes traced the path that the MP had taken. “Who was that, what was he trying to sell you?”

“Bullshit,” Lee answered.

“What?”

“He’s a politician.”

Riso nodded. “I’ll ignore the door if it rings,” he noted. “I came out to have a look at the damage.” He gestured toward his garden. “It’s going to take a lot of time and effort to sort all of that out. You haven’t changed your mind since last night I hope?”

Lee glanced at both of the gardens; it would certainly be tedious work but he didn’t have anything better to do. Part of him actually relished the idea. “Of course not, I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Excellent! I need to make a quick trip into town, then I’ll get the tools out of the garage and then we’re set to go. Are you doing anything now?”

“No.”

“Well, why don’t you come over? Zala is in the house lying around. I’m sure she’ll make you a cup of tea and I should be back in about ten minutes.”

Lee looked behind him, the sound of the television echoed through the hallway and out onto the driveway. He had lost his state of euphoria, but perhaps Zala would help to restore it. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll just lock up and will be right over.”

“I’ll tell Zala you’re coming, just walk right in.”