When David handed Evelyn the little brass key to his flat, she felt a sudden, almost cinematic revelation: the lock was finally hers. No Oscarwinning actor had ever waited for an award as anxiously as Evelyn had waited for David, especially now that she could claim a place of her own.
At thirtyfive, a little weary from life’s disappointments, she found herself stealing sympathetic glances at the alley cats and the shop windows of All Things Knitting on the high street.
He was the solitary type, a man who had spent his youth chasing a career, proper nutrition, the gym and all the other modern nonsense of finding oneself, and, to top it all, he was childless.
Evelyn had been dreaming of this particular gift since she was twenty, and somewhere in the heavens it seemed to finally click that she wasnt joking.
My last business trip of the year is tomorrow, and Im all yours, David said, sliding the coveted key across the kitchen table. Dont be frightened by my bachelor pad. I only come home for a nights sleep, he added with a grin before disappearing to a different time zone for the weekend.
Evelyn grabbed her toothbrush, a tube of hand cream, and set off to see what this bachelor pad really looked like. Trouble met her at the door. David had warned her that the lock sometimes stuck, but she hadnt imagined it could be so obstinate.
She wrestled with the door for a solid forty minutes: pushing, pulling, inserting the key fully, even trying to turn it just a fraction, but the heavy oak seemed intent on staying shut for the new tenant.
Frustrated, she resorted to the sort of petty psychological tactics shed learned in schoolyard squabbles behind the garage. The commotion drew the attention of a neighbour in the flat next door.
Why are you trying to break into someone elses flat? asked a worried female voice.
Im not breaking in, I have the key, Evelyn snapped, wiping sweat from her forehead.
And who are you? Ive never seen you before, the neighbour pressed, clearly meddling.
Im his girl! Evelyn declared, turning and pressing her palms against the wall, only to see a narrow crack through which the neighbour peered.
You? the woman said, genuinely surprised.
Yes, thats me. Anything wrong?
No, nothing at all. Its just that he never brings anyone home (at that moment Evelyn loved David even more), and now
What do you mean now? Evelyn asked, bewildered.
Its not my business. Sorry, the neighbour said, shutting the door.
Understanding that she either had to give up or force the lock, Evelyn shoved the key in with every ounce of determination she possessed. The ancient mechanism finally gave way and the door swung open.
Inside, Davids modest world unfolded before her eyes, and a chill seemed to settle over her soul. Of course, a solitary young man tended toward a certain asceticism, but this was genuine comfort.
Poor thing, your heart has long forgottenor perhaps never knewwhat a cosy home feels like, Evelyn murmured as she surveyed the humble dwelling she would now be frequenting.
On the other hand, she was relieved. The neighbour had not been fooled: a womans hand had clearly never touched these walls, this floor, this kitchen, these greytinted windows. Evelyn was the first.
Unable to sit still, she bolted to the nearest high street shop for a pretty curtain, a bath mat, and a handful of kitchen towels. The aisles were a treasure trovedoormats, curtains, scented sachets, handmade soap, and sleek containers for cosmetics.
Adding such trinkets to someone elses flat isnt being pushy at all, she whispered to herself, pulling a second trolley behind the first.
The lock no longer resisted. In truth, it had ceased to function, reminiscent of a football goalkeeper who forgot his mask before a match.
Realising the extent of the damage, Evelyn spent the night prying the stubborn lock apart with a kitchen knife, and by morning she was back at the shop for a new one. The knives, of course, also needed replacement, as did forks, spoons, a tablecloth, cutting boards and hotplate standsperhaps even a few curtain rods.
On a Sunday at lunch, David called to say his business trip would be extended a couple of days.
Ill be thrilled if you bring a bit of warmth and comfort into my flat, he laughed over the line when Evelyn confessed shed taken a few liberties with his interior.
By then she had already turned the flat into a showroom, arranging everything according to a meticulous plan and a stack of receipts. Years of unspent energy had finally been released, and she could not stop.
The only other resident left in Davids old flat was a spider perched near the ventilation shaft. Evelyn thought about shooing it away, but when she saw its eight glittering eyes, she decided to leave it as a silent guardian of the newly claimed space.
Davids flat now looked as if he had spent eight happy years in marriage, been disappointed, and then found happiness againagainst all odds.
Evelyn not only tended to the flat but also made sure the whole building knew she was the new landlady; any queries were now directed to her. No wedding ring adorned her finger yet, but that was merely a technicality.
Neighbours first eyed her with suspicion, then simply shrugged: Do as you please, its your business.
—
The day David was due to return, Evelyn prepared a proper homecooked dinner, packed her freshlymarinated fillets in a tasteful yet somewhat gaudy tin, scattered scented candles in the corners, dimmed the new lighting, and waited.
David was still delayed. As Evelyn felt the weight of the tin pressing against the spot where shed spent half a year at the gym, the new lock finally clicked.
The locks new; just give it a shove, it wont lock itself! she said, a little flustered but husky with anticipation. She wasnt afraid of judgment; shed worked hard on the flat and deserved forgiveness.
Just as the door opened, a sudden text buzzed on Evelyns phone: Where are you? Im home. The flat looks exactly the same. Friends warned me youd carpet it in cosmetics. She only read the message much later. In the meantime five total strangerstwo young adults, two schoolaged children, and a very elderly gentlemanstepped inside. The old man, noticing Evelyn, straightened his grey hair in an instant.
Blimey, sir, youve got a welcome crew. Whyd you need a health resort when youve got an allinclusive at home? the young man joked, only to receive a swift tap on the head from his wife for daydreaming.
Evelyn stood on the threshold, two full glasses in hand, rooted to the spot. She wanted to shout but a sudden paralysis held her tongue. In a corner a spider twitched merrily.
Excuse me, who are you? Evelyn asked in a squeaky voice.
The proprietor of the local courtyard, the old man replied, eyeing her nurses uniform. And you, I assume, are here for a checkup? I told myself I could manage on my own, he added with a grin.
Ah, Mr. Adam Whitfield, youve turned this place into a cosy haven, remarked the young mans wife, slipping behind Evelyn. Its a different story to the cellarlike apartments we grew up in. And you, miss, whats your name? Is Adam Whitfield not a bit oldfashioned for you?
Evelyn Evelyn, she stammered.
Ah, splendid! You really know how to pick people, Mr. Whitfield, the old man chuckled, his eyes twinkling.
Wheres David? Evelyn whispered, setting both glasses down in one swift motion.
Im David! a small boy of about eight shouted, raising his hand.
Hold on, lad, youre a bit young to be David, his mother said, pulling him away and ushering the children and husband to the car.
Mymy apologies, I think Im in the wrong flat, Evelyn finally gathered herself, recalling the lock. Is this 18B, flat26?
No, thats 18B, but the flats number is 18, the old man corrected, rubbing his hands together as if ready to unpack a surprise gift.
Right, Evelyn sighed, Im mixedup. Come in, make yourselves at home; Ill step out for a moment. I need to make a call.
She slipped into the bathroom, locked the door, and wrapped a towel around herself, finally reading Davids voice note: David, Ill be there soon; just stuck in the shop.
Alright, Ill be waiting. If you can, bring a bottle of red, his voice crackled.
She reached for the red wine, but it was already inside her, the thought of it warming her cheeks. She lifted the carpet, pulled down the curtain, and only once the strangers had moved to the kitchen did she burst from the bathroom.
Grabbing a sack of her hastily packed belongings, she fled the flat.
Tell you later, she told the young man who opened the door for her, as she slipped past him without looking back. She headed straight for the bathroom, swapped the curtain, laid the carpet flat, and then collapsed on the sofa, sleeping until the morning sun chased away the stress and the lingering colour of the wine.
When she awoke, a young man she didnt recognise stood before her, waiting for an explanation.
Excuse me, whats the address again?
Flat18, number8.
And so the tale lingered, a memory of an improbable night when a key, a stubborn lock, and a handful of strangers turned a lonely bachelors flat into a home of its own.