Wear Me Like A Locket

Phil Lester fed his baby daughter Claudia at 2am on the 2nd of May 2014, she fell asleep in his arms so he put her back in her crib and got back into bed with his wife Julia and slept uninterrupted until 7am when alarm went off. These were all details that I had written in my notebook, but also details that I could recite off by heart. I had been watching Phil for fifty-six days, eleven hours, twenty-two minutes and seven seconds and there was nothing more important to me than detail; the more I knew about Phil the more I could convince myself I knew Phil. Since the social revolution of the internet stalking has become easier but I have always preferred the old fashioned method; there was nothing quite like the adrenaline kick of thinking you would be caught or the excitement of seeing that person movements in the flesh. 

Clambering to the top of my desk, I stuck my latest drawing of Phil in one of the few available spaces on my bedroom wall, I knew before long my drawings would be spilling out into the hallway but I didn’t mind; the idea of being completely surrounded by Phil excited me. I couldn’t invite friends or family to his flat but that didn’t matter because Phil was the only person I really cared about. I admired my unconventional wallpaper and sighed. I had always wanted to be an artist and the fast charcoal sketches overlapped by delicate watercolours reminded me of the career I missed out on. The only career I have ever had was as a private investigator for a small firm; I was made redundant just over a year ago and haven’t found work since. 

The obsession with Phil had started as an accident. I found Phil’s driving license in the park and with my experience it took almost no time to find out Phil’s address and return it. Phil’s house was a small but charming home on the outskirts of their town. The weather was unseasonably cold and dreary which left a slight frost on the neatly trimmed blades of grass on Phil’s front garden. My previous work as an investigator had left its mark on me and I couldn’t help but notice the small details from the child’s wellington boots on the porch to cress growing on the window sill. I hit the brass door knocker, three times hard and within seconds a small and curvy woman answered the door holding a tea towel.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a smile.

"Err, yes, well, does Philip Lester live here?" I asked.

"He does indeed, he’s my husband but he’s out at work right now, why do you ask?"

"I found his driving license,"

"Oh thank you so much, we’d been going crazy looking for that!" she exclaimed

"You’re welcome," 

"Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?" 

I didn’t have time to think of an excuse so accepted her offer and walked into the warm house. It was clearly quite an old house, I noted, from the exposed wooden beams along the low ceiling but it was undoubtedly charming. The woman who introduced herself as Julia poured water into a copper kettle that she rested on the stove to boil and busied herself finding teacups. Sitting at an oak table adorned with fresh fruit and artisan decoration I began to play with my fingers having no idea what to do whilst I waited for the tea. Julia placed a china plate of iced biscuits in front of me, “Help yourself, I made them with my son, Denzel,”

"Oh really," I said whilst picking up circular biscuit, iced pink, "How old is he?"

"He turned four last month, and we’ve got a three month old daughter, Claudia,"

"Oh how lovely,"

"Yes, they can be a bit of a handful though! How do you take your tea?"

"Milk, no sugar please,"

"Coming right up," she smiled as she served me tea in her best china

I left the comfortable home that day with a feeling of un-fulfilment. My curiosity was racing again, who was Philip Lester and was his life actually so perfect.