Scored in Love (Wattys2015)

~27~ a tempting offer

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I’m freezing. I’ve just turned into my road. I don’t realise that I’m humming a random tune — anything to distract me from the spine-chilling coldness. Nearly there. I pass the familiar uniform houses, taking in their appearance without really processing it, if you know what I mean. I’ve lived on this street my whole life — everything seems the same. 

The people grow older; the houses stay boring and grey.

The street’s pretty much deserted and silent, save for a few kids walking up to their front doors. I vaguely hear TV show noise as I walk pass Mr Bergman’s house. Round about now, he always watches that Cruft's competition programme.

The wind lashes against my cheeks. I can see our bright yellow front door… 

A smart car pulls into next door’s driveway. Sh!t. Mr Zeepler’s back home. I don’t look his way. All I hear is the slamming of a car door. 

Just get into the house as quickly as possible. Keep your head down. Maybe he won’t even recognise you. He’ll know you don’t want to speak to hi—

“Ah, Miss Amelie!” Mr Zeepler calls out, as he strides towards me. There’s a cat carrier tucked under his arm.

I curse multiple times under my breath as he meets me by the gate. A fierce gust of wind pulls back my hood. I try to pull the hood back into place, but it’s too late. The stubborn wind is having none of it. Mr Z’s eyebrows raise and a puzzled expression crosses his face as he surveys Lucille’s handiwork.

“The cat just got the all-clear from the vet,” he finishes off lamely.

At least one good thing will come out of this. Maybe Mr Z will leave me alone. He likes to surround himself with pretty things. Too bad I look like a bag lady now — not. I smirk up at him. 

The cat’s large green eyes peer at me. His mouth curls up and it shrinks back into the shadows of the cat carrier. A blotchy paw covers its eyes as if to say “you’re looking ugly, girl.” Shut up, you pampered little sh!t. This cat is perhaps the most slyest, evilest cat alive. He’s Mrs Z’s cat. All he does is go around begging for food, when he gets plenty at home — look how fat he is! 

I’m surprised Mr Zeepler managed to stuff the cat inside the cat carrier. He hates Mishka with a passion. 

I remember what happened last summer when The Zeeplers were having an al fresco supper. I was sun-bathing on the roof-garden, sipping a chilled can of orangeade. Good times. 

The cat slinked over to him and snatched his fish fillet off the plate. Golden Erik had been preoccupied with his iPad, so he remained completely oblivious. 

Let’s just say, when his fork touched only salad leaves and goat’s cheese, he wasn’t best… pleased. Snuggled in a tree branch, the cat’s eyes gleamed as he feasted on the fillet, while Mr Z cursed like a madman at the foot of the tree. His wife collapsed into a fit of giggles.

If you’re asking for my opinion, the loser deserved that.

“You’re looking slightly dishevelled and… frozen,” Mr Zeepler’s blue eyes rake over my shabby attire. “Coffee? I know how much you like your caffeine…” He smiles pleasantly. 

I groan. 

“We have a brand-new Italian coffee machine.” 

This guy doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Why is he so persistant? I’d hoped that I’d have an easy life now…

“I’m good.”

“No trouble at all. I’m about to feed Mishka. Can’t indulge the cat…” His eyes twinkle alluringly.

“Still no,” I slam open the gate and drag my sore feet up the front path. 

“Amelie!” His silky voice calls out to me. 

I close my eyes for a moment. If I didn’t, I think I’d scream the street down. I turn around to allow him to have the last word.

“True beauty lies in a woman’s face, not her hair…” His lips curve into a mysterious smile.

We stare at each other for a moment. My lips part slightly. Well…

Grinning, he pats the carrier and walks off towards his house. “Come along, Mishka.”

I shake my head. Snap out of it. Mr Z’s like a cobra or python. He likes to ensnare his victims. 

I shove my hands in the overcoat pockets before remembering that Lucille ran off with my bag. Therefore, I have no keys. I’m locked out. Great.

Where did Dad place the spare keys? I lift up a plant pot and breathe a sigh of relief when I see the silver key — my saviour. 

I slip the key into the lock, but the lock doesn’t turn. That only means one thing. Dad’s changed the locks. The b@stard has locked his own daughter out of the house. How could he forget to transfer the spare key after all his danger talks? I bang my head against the door. I can’t take anymore of this sh!t. A single tear runs down my cheek. 

What do I do now? I can’t wait for Dad to come back home. I’ll freeze my arse off. More importantly, my life will be over. He’ll call the police and I’ll have to explain what happened—

I can’t face that. Calm down. I slump down onto the front step and bury my face in my hands. I try to clear my head, so I can think about the limited options available to me.

There’s only one other person who Dad may have given the spare key to. 

I swallow.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

A/N: Please VOTE, COMMENT and SHARE! Thank you! :) Are you warming to Mr Z??? :D Dmitri