Smokingboot

It happened 4 years ago today.

I had a little bit of nightmare activity last night, a little bit the night before, but that will pass. Does it help to mark the day? I don't know, and I can't quite analyse it yet.

Whimsy and I spoke yesterday; faced with our friend probably staying tonight and tomorrow, she would indeed like company for supper, so I'll pop along. It will mean coming back by bus in the dark, but last night's full moon was very lovely; I lose nothing by travelling if tonight is as clear.

And it's a good day for helping out. Our friend will be drink-free, tobacco-free, missing his home and fed up of friendly advice. I suspect the evening could have a cantankerous edge to it...

Out on Lewisham High Street, a grubby man passes me and grins, gold teeth winking.

'Inchoo lovely!' He says, as he wanders off.

On the way back an old guy with a can of Tennants smiles at me. 'Tired,eh?' He says, soft pleasant voice.

Everyone seems so poor, dirty, old. But their faces aren't leering or creepy. They're OK really, ordinary.

Sunny cold morning, wet May.

Normal may not be round the corner. But it's not far away either.

God help me, I am about to scream or shout or something terrible, so scared. Less than 10 minutes ago something happened. I just spoke to larians, I should be calm but I'm not, I'm not.

There was a knock on my door. I called out down the stairs and a male voice told me he just wanted to talk to me. I went to the door but didn't open it. He really wanted me to.

He told me he wanted to talk to me about the recent incident at the house. Christ, my stomach is churning. He explained to me that he had been arrested the night it happened, 'But it weren't me,' he said, 'They didn't oughter 'rest me, I don't do that sort of thing, not like that little...'

I explained I was sorry he had been arrested on my account. 'I wanted to tell you,' He said, 'I don't do that sort of thing. Anyways, I ran into the bloke who did it in jail, him claiming he was off his head on pills and such like. And I can tell you, he's had such a kicking in there!'

Oh God.

I explained that though the guy is a bad man, I don't want him to get a kicking.
'Well, it ain't much of a kicking,' the gentleman told me, 'Nothing for you to worry about. But he has had a kicking, I tell you! We don't do that sort of thing.'

We? Who is this we? How many of you know where I live, and can just pop round in the middle of the day for a chat? The police won't have told this visitor my address...the only way he can have known is if the man told him, or if he was nearby and spotted the police cars that night. He says he bumped into the man in prison, having been arrested for the same crime? Really? It's just insane. And there's a way, an easy spyable way around the back of this house. If I had the back door open, anyone could come in. The security is sh*te, Terrence knows this and anyone he tells will know it too.

Oh end, end, end, why won't this stupid thing end?

I try to be calm, try to think of our wonderful weekend in Stroud with velvet_the_cat and Dan sans lj, I run around this house like a whippet on a wheel. But all I can think is of being known, this house not being safe, and of the man being beaten in prison. Kicked. Holy Christ, this life! Do I go out, do I stay in, do I tell the police? My visitor may have been innocent, just giving me a well-meaning message from the criminal fraternity. He might have been Terrence's best mate. He might have been casing the house. He might be mad or drunk or on something. I don't know.

I sweet-talked the man away. Now I sit here, too confused to cry.

Edited to add So after talking to Victim Support, I emailed the detective in charge of the case. He says he thinks he knows who it is and will go have a word. This makes me feel bad in case the visitor's intentions were unicorn pure; in my paranoid moments, I am afraid he will hold a grudge and hang around till I go out, then come in and do something horrible.

I want to move away. But where? There is no option right now.

Sick, ever so sick of this.