What Kind of Man || Jim Moriarty

One

It wasn't unusual for Lucy to be running through the tube station at 7:45 in the morning, her overly dull black plimsoles slamming against the tiled steps leading up the busy London street. She gasped at the fresh air she was finally able to breathe but didn't slow down, beginning to push through the large crowds of people gathered around. They were all most likely on their way to work like she was, but that didn't mean she spared them any sympathy. She was running late and had 15 minutes to travel down five streets, almost one and a half miles, and into the deserted area of Kensington Gardens.

The black tunic she wore didn't at all hide the profession she belonged to, neither did the way her hair was scraped back away from her face and secured with grips into a neat bun. But if even that wasn't enough, the pair of bright yellow rubber gloves and the new, unopened packet of multipurpose cloths hanging out of her overstuffed bag settled any doubts. Lucy Scott would be lying if she said she had aimed and worked hard to be a housekeeper at the age of 27, in fact, had she of known during her years at university that this would be her fate she would've probably killed herself then.

"Excuse me." It was a hushed request under her breath as she squeezed past two elderly women crawling along the path by the side of the road. But then she carried on running, unwilling to let the tightness building in her chest slow her down. Burning lungs would be a better consequence than having to listen to a lecture from her boss and Mrs Samson, the latter of which she may have to spend the next 4 hours with.

It wasn't that she felt intimidated by the slightly older gold digger, just if Lucy was forced to listen to her whining for that long she wouldn't take responsibility for her actions. But the chance of that happening seemed less and less of a threat as she turned a corner and saw the path was clear right to the end. If she ran she might even be early...only by a minute or so but still.

After ten more minutes of giving an uncanny impression Miss Piggy from the Muppets, arms flaying and hair blown back from her face, the front gate to the large Townhouse came into view. Her sigh of relief couldn't be ignored, neither could her internal craving for nicotine but that would have to wait until her break to be satisfied. Still however, she took a few seconds on her journey to appreciate the beauty of the area, like she did every week when she visited this house.

Everything was spotless. And it always was. Lucy could not recall a morning she had walked down the street and seen one thing out of place. Every house, every garden, every sparkling car that stood parked against the curb was perfect as if it was part of a storybook setting. It was silent too, only the sound of the wind sweeping through the trees reaching her ears...and the sound of her feet slapping against the slabs of concrete of course.

With a glance at her watch, she pushed open the black pristine gate and replaced it before trotting up the large stone steps to the front door. She didn't knock, the Samson's hated it when she knocked as it 'distracted' them from whatever they were doing. Instead, she took the large abundance of keys squashed onto one tiny key ring and plucked the correct one out.

7:59....almost perfect timing, though she would have rather been stood there without the sheen of sweat on her brow.

Looking around, the hallway was empty and so was the living room from what she could see through the open door at the end of the corridor. Maybe the house was empty? It would be welcomed by Lucy but unfortunately, just as the thought passed through her head the sound of heels clicking on the hard wood floors broke the silence.

"Ah, I was wondering where you were." The bright voice of Abigail Samson spoke as she descended the stairs to the ground floor.

Abigail Samson was a...strange woman. Strange in the sense that looking at her, you would think she was a very pleasant woman. Abigail was immaculate at all times of the day, her bleached hair styled and make up impeccably done even if it was a bit much sometimes. But under the suffocated skin and expensive clothing was a shallow woman. Looking down her nose at everyone around her and speaking in such patronising tones sometimes Lucy really wanted to slap her on the rare occasion. Just because she was married to a lonely and desperate business man in his late 50's, she thought she was the bees knees. She got the lovely house and the glittering diamonds for nothing, she didn't even love the poor man who slaved over a desk for 16 hours a day.