Grace found a note on her front door. 'Your flat has been tidied up for you, courtesy of SG,' it said.
Who is SG? She thought.
Cautiously, or in other words, slowly, she put her yale key into the front door and turned it anticlockwise by around forty five degrees. The lock drew back and she pushed the door inwards. The bottom of the door glided across the carpet floor immediately inside the flat, giving off a rustling sound. Grace's heart beat impossibly fast. This time, she felt like she was being watched. Her heart was in her mouth. What was she doing? This is not safe and she should have asked police for help, as well as reported Walker and his colleague, Brian- or whatever his name is- for abusing their 'police powers.'
Grace reached over to switch on the light. It was annoying that it was always a bit too far from the door. Click. Her studio flat, lit up, was perfectly neat and tidy. Items folded in a professional manner, as if done by an organising consultant. The air was fragrant and it smelt like lavender. The work surfaces looked smooth and the stainless steel sink sparkled.
Still, she did not feel safe. She locked her front door and put on the latch chain, something would normally never do. She laid her eyes on every corner of her space and looked behind the drawn curtains to ensure the windows were secure. It helped being on the third floor.
She looked at her watch, she only had twenty minutes to be ready.
She took a shower but kept the door to the bathroom open. She also ran the shower at a low flow speed so that she could hear any activity outside the bathroom. There was no music, she did not sing, she just listened attentively like a deer that has stopped grazing to check if it is being tracked by a wolf.
She dressed quickly and did not apply much in the way of make-up due to time and her general anxiety. Once again, she felt on edge and out of control, unable to direct the situation she was in. This trial. This labour.
She checked outside the window periodically, scanning for a red taxi, then returning to perch on the edge of her sofa. Outside there are only avatara whizzing around as usual, running on the street or walking. To Grace, it was like a background noise, people playing make believe constantly, lost in their own worlds. Sure some could be nasty and commit crimes but in the milliseconds she thought about it, that was the behaviour of the few, not the many, despite what they said on the news.
Her clothes were changed. No longer wearing the trench coat, she was wearing trainers and a sports jacket. Just in case, the situation gets hairy and she has to run for her life. That was her thinking.
Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her jogging bottoms. They were here, she thought. Unlocking the phone screen, she opened the message. It was mother. She sent a voice message via the text app.
"Hey Grace, hope you are good and everything is going well with the shop? I just wanted to let you know that I am going on a surprise holiday! You know the type that you book online and you only find out where you're going once you get to the airport? Yeah, I'm doing that. I'm on my way to the airport now. It's a late flight as well, making it more interesting. Was going to call but I didn't want to bug you. I know I do that enough already. Anyway, I'll let you know where I end up. If you need anything just text me. Love you. J-baby."
Of all the times in my life, right now is the time that I need my mother, Grace thought. Except she did not think mother, she thought mum. There is something more intimate about that label compared to mother. Mum.