The Unexpected Visitor 1

I was in the middle of preparing my evening meal when the phone rang. It was my dear sister Phoebe who as soon as I got the receiver to my ear sounded off about her latest ailment.

"You what...?"

"Been to the doctor...?"

"What is it...?"

"Ah, pain in the tummy."

"It's not...!"

"Oh, a touch of indigestion... I'm..."

From the upstairs flat came the ear-splitting noise of what passes for music these days. This was followed by raised voices, a scream and a loud bang. The music ceased.

I tried to finish what I was saying but Phoebe had butted in with what I took to be another complaint.

"Phoebe, you'll have to speak up; there's the most frightful noise coming from the upstairs flat, I can barely hear you.

There was the sound of a door slamming above.

Phoebe was still moaning on at the other end of the phone when the doorbell rang.

"Hold on a minute Phoebe," I said, interrupting the flow of her complaining, "There's someone at the door; be right back."

The doorbell rang again; a long impatient blast.

"All right I'm coming, I'm coming."

I opened the door to find a girl, probably about eighteen or nineteen standing there. She was dressed in the casual rags of modern youth; a tattered pair of jeans that hung partially open down the front over a swollen belly , a dirty shirt of some kind, her bare feet in a pair of plastic sandals and incongruously a short moth eaten fur coat. She looked and smelt like she hadn't washed for a long time and her dark brown hair was lank and greasy. Over her shoulder was slung a large bag. Most noticeable of all, she was either exceedingly fat or very pregnant. I opted for pregnant.

Without a word she walked into my flat and plonked herself down on the settee.

"Can I help you?" I asked, struggling to remain polite despite the gall of the female strolling, or rather, waddling in like that.

"I'm from the flat upstairs," she said, not answering my question.

"Ah."

I had seen the two youths who occupied the flat above mine. One was a scrawny Jesus look-alike and the other seemed bent on proving that we are indeed descended from apes, if that isn't being too disrespectful to apes. I had also observed the succession of females who came and went in their flat as they passed up and down the stairs. I could not recall having seen this particular girl, and being so vastly pregnant I think I would have noticed.

"Look," I said, "I'm on the phone..."

"That's okay," she said, as if giving me permission, "You finish your conversation."

I returned to the phone and said, "Sorry Phoebe, it's someone from the upstairs flat just dropped in..."

"No, not one of those scruff bags, it's..."

"Yes, a girl..."

"About eighteen or nineteen I should say..."

"No, no, I won't get involved..."

"Yes, I've learned my lesson..."

"No, I won't...look Phoebe, I'd better hang up now and find out what the girl wants..."

"Yes, I know, I'll ring you back."

I replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief; ever since Brenda had walked out on me Phoebe had plagued me nightly with her combined desire to off-load her latest woes, and to lecture me on the dangers of being involved with women. Come to think of it she had plagued me from the day I married Brenda.

I turned to my self invited visitor. "Now what can I do for you?"

"You've got a crazy pad," she said, again not answering my question.

"What do you mean?"

"It looks like some place I saw in a film once; some story written by a guy called Diggins or Dirkson or something."

"You don't mean Charles Dickens, do you?"

"Yeah, that was the name. You really must be educated. All this crazy old stuff you've got; you in to old are you?"

"I just like picking up interesting looking pieces," I replied.

This was not the whole truth. Since Brenda cleared out and had taken me for a heap of money I'd had to take on this cheap flat. It was originally one large room on the first floor of an old three story house. It had been converted into flats by putting up partition walls to make a living area, bedroom, kitchen and a shower alcove. The furniture was the result of bargain hunting and a bit on restoration work that I did myself. I must say the place looked fine as far as I was concerned.

"I'm Rowena Talbot, by the way," the girl said. "You can call me Rowe. What's your name," she asked.

"George, and you can call me George," I replied heavily.

She rose and waddled over to the kitchen and looked in.

"Not bad," she commented. "By the way, something's burning on the stove."

"Oh God, I've forgotten all about the meal I was cooking." I rushed into the kitchen and retrieved the pan, just about saving the contents from total incineration.

"You cook?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Not married?"

"No."

"You have been."

"Yes...how do you know?"

"Dunno, you've just got that look about you. Do you always cook dressed like that?"

I was still wearing the trousers, shirt and tie of my business suit with an apron tied round my waist.

"It depends on what time I get in from work. I was late tonight."

She laughed; "Quite the little housewife aren't you."

She had got me thoroughly irritated so I said more sharply than I intended; "Look, will you kindly state what you want."

"You talk la-di-da, don't you," she said, apparently trying to mimic my manner of speaking.

"I've never thought about it and..." I was going to ask her once again what she wanted but she cut in before I could go on.

"What's that stuff your cooking?"

"It's called 'stir fry'."

"Sounds weird; what's in it?"

"Lots of things; chilli, broccoli, carrot, onion, cauliflower, garlic, chicken, noodles and capsicum."

"Jesus, you go to all that trouble; why not just get a takeaway?"

"I don't care for takeaway."

"It's all I ever eat," she said. "Have you got a coke? I'm thirsty."

"No."

"What's that stuff over there?" she pointed to the drinks cabinet.

"Whisky."

"I'll have some of that."

"Do you think you should in...in er...your condition?"

She patted her bloated belly and said, "It'll do it good. Get it going with the old kick kick."

I poured her a small whisky and said, "When you've finished that I think you'd better go back upstairs."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Had a row and walked out."

"Yes, I heard the noise. There was a terrible bang."

"Chucked his boom box at him didn't I!"

"I see," I replied, having no idea what a boom box was. "Your husband might have calmed down by now and be getting anxious about you."

"What husband?"

"Well, the father of your child then."

"I've no idea who that is. Probably some guy where I come from, but can't be sure. It's certainly not one of those bastards up there. They only picked me up in the shopping mall a few days ago."

"But surely they'll look after you."

"Oh yeah, they'll look after me all right. They've fucked me night and day ever since I went with them."

I was horrified. "Surely in your condition you shouldn't be engaging in...er...er...intimate relations?"

"That's a fancy way of putting it. It's okay, they can't get on top of me I'm too far gone," she said, patting her belly again, "so they come in from behind."

She took a swig of the whisky and began to cough and splutter.

"Gawd, that strong," she gasped. "Can I have some of that stuff you're cooking?"

I had managed to rescue most of the meal from its potential fiery demise but I had only prepared for one. I was half mind to refuse her, but somehow she seemed to have taken over so all I said was, "If you like."

"I'll tell you if I like when I've tasted it," she said.

The situation seemed to have got out of hand, or more accurately, out of my hand and into hers. I had never associated with anyone like Rowena before, my main social contacts being those with whom I worked in the Public Service. I was really at a loss to know how to approach this seemingly impervious young woman.

I handed her a plate which she ignored and said, "Help your self."

She speared a little of the stir fry with a fork and I unwisely waited for her to taste it to see her reaction before I put out my own plateful.

She took a mouthful and after a few chomps on it swallowed and said; "Bugger me, that's bloody good."

She took the plate I had offered and then proceeded to help her self to more, in the process scraping the pan clean. She plonked the plate on the kitchen table, sat down, and bolted the lot in no time flat.

I began to say, "That was intended for my..." but she interrupted me.

"That was terrific. I haven't eaten properly for a couple of days."

I rallied my self-respect and said, "Now look here Rowena, you've drunk my whisky and eaten my food, I think it's time you were on your way."

She looked unperturbed and said, "Yeah, I suppose so. Let's have twenty bucks will you?"

"What?"

"I'd say lend me twenty bucks, but I know I won't pay it back."

"I'm not giving you twenty bu...dollars," I protested. "You walk in here as if you own the place and then expect me to part with my money. I know about your type. You don't bother to work like everyone else; you expect the government to hand out taxpayer's money to you; you think of nothing but sex and drugs and then have the cheek to beg."

"That's right," she grinned, still unruffled. "We're the poor little street kids, the homeless, the unfortunate ones; the ones they whine about on television but never do anything about."

"Haven't you got parents you can go to."

"Nah, the old lady wouldn't let me in the door."

"Why not; did you do something really bad?"

"What she called bad, not what I call bad."

"Like what?"

"She caught dad having sex with me."

"My God, he raped you?"

"Nah, it was great. It was me that got him to fuck me and he was the best fuck I've ever had. We were on for a couple of years before she caught us. She screamed the place down, silly bitch. I mean, what harm were we doing just enjoying ourselves? She had no reason to gripe, she hadn't opened her legs to him for years."

"So you got kicked out?"

"Yeah, the old man would have kept me there but I was under age when we started fucking and the old lady said she'd report him to the police if I didn't clear off...look, are you going to let me have that twenty bucks or not?"

"No."

"But I've got to have something so I can get somewhere to crash for the night."

"You won't get much for twenty dollars."

"Make it forty then if you're in to charity...look, I can't go back up there, they'll only want to fuck me again and it's starting to be uncomfortable."

That set me off on another train of thought.

"What have you done about the baby?"

"What do you mean, done about it?"

"Who is your doctor?"

"What doctor?"

"The one who's monitoring your pregnancy."

"You don't think I'd go anywhere near those creeps do you?" Bloody hell they're just the one's who screw you up."

"But surely...which hospital are you booked into?"

"None."

"But you can't be more than a few days off giving birth, you should have booked in long ago."

"Garbage; I've read where women are working in the fields; they feel the kid coming so they duck behind a bush, drop it out and get straight back to work."

"But you're not..." I gave up. "What are you going to do...tonight I mean?"

"If you won't let me have the money I'll have to stay here."

"You can't stay here," I gasped, horrified at the idea that we should be alone together for a whole night.

"Why not? Look if you let me stay the night you can fuck me. I know I said it's uncomfortable, but if your careful, it'll be okay; a deal?"

"No it's not a deal and I don't what to fu...to have intimate relations with you."

"You mean if I stay here you won't try and get it up me?"

"Certainly not."

"Thank God for that. You gay?"

"No I am not gay and I have no intention of sexually molesting you.

"I love the posh way you talk George, I think I could listen to you for ever."

"Well you won't be listening to me for ever. I'll let you stop here for one night but you must move on tomorrow."

"Great," she said, "where do I sleep?"

There were only two possibilities, the bedroom or the settee that opened out to form a rather unenthusiastic bed. I looked at Rowena and her obviously uncomfortably swollen belly. She had shocked and disgusted me with her language and demeanour but I could not help feeling a twinge of pity for her and the child she carried.

"You can use the bed," I said hastily before I changed my mind.

"Great, where is it?"

"Where you'd expect to find it, in the bedroom of course," I said.

She laughed and pointed upward; "Up there it's all one big bedroom."

"Well it's not here." I went to the bedroom door and opened it and Rowena looked in.

"Jesus, just look at that bed its fantastic, it'd house four people; just the thing for an orgy; you going to sleep with me?"

"I certainly am not," I replied self-righteously. "I shall sleep on the settee. It opens out to make a bed."

"I wouldn't mind if you slept with me, I mean, you said you didn't want to fuck me, so what's the difference."

"To me a very big difference. Now, it's nearly ten o'clock, I haven't had anything to eat, and in your condition I think you should get an early night."

"Yes daddy," she mimicked.

She was right, I was beginning to sound like a parent, and whilst at thirty six years of age I could no doubt have fathered her, I had no wish to stand in for her incestuous parent.

"I'd be obliged if you'd take a shower before you go to bed," I said haughtily.

Rowena looked at me quizzically; "Are you sure you don't want to screw me. Some guys like you to be all fresh and clean before they fuck you, others like the female smell. You in to fresh and clean George?"

"To be frank," I said, "I don't want your unwashed body in the bed that I shall be sleeping in when you've left."

"Ah, its hygiene is it," she smirked.

"Yes, if that how you want to put it. Now, since you've eaten my evening meal I shall get on and prepare myself something else, so if you wouldn't mind...Oh, by the way, shouldn't you go and get your things from upstairs?"

"Things? I've got all my things in the bag."

I looked at the bag she had been carrying when she arrived. It didn't look as if there was much in it and I said so.

"It's got all I need," she replied. "I sleep in the raw so I don't need nightwear; I've got a clean pair of knickers, another pair of jeans and a dress, so what more do I need?"

I gave up, shrugged my shoulders and went into the kitchen to prepare a meal of eggs and bacon. Rowena made for the shower alcove.

I was half way through my meal preparation when from behind me Rowena asked, "Do you need to get anything from the bedroom? I might be asleep otherwise."

I turned to see her standing naked by the kitchen door. Taken aback I stared at her. She had obviously showered and her hair was still damp. I saw her great distended belly and her heavy breasts. A narrow strip of pubic hair ran from her mons down under her groin.

I had seen Brenda naked but oddly I had never felt as moved then as I now did looking at this girl. She did not arouse me sexually, she was too bloated for that, but instead a wave of compassion swept over me. For a moment I wanted to put my arms round her and tell her everything would be all right.

I snapped out of it and said shortly, "Watch the bacon and eggs, and don't eat them; I'll get some bedclothes from the closet and my clean shirt for the morning."

"Okay George," she said in a tone that almost resembled meekness.

I got the things and dumped them on the settee, and then returned to my belated meal. Rowena was standing watching over the cooking.

"Get to bed" I told her.

"Yes George; and it would be good to have a nice man like you in bed with me."

She went leaving behind her a very confused George.

I slept badly that night and apart from the rather uncomfortable

bed/settee I had awful dreams that seemed to involve a series of pregnant girls storming my flat. When I woke I felt as if I hadn't slept at all.

After showering I dressed and had breakfast. Then I remembered I had draped my suit jacket over the back of the chair in the bedroom. Rowena had still not appeared, so I had to creep in to the bedroom to retrieve the jacket.

Rowena was still asleep and picking up my jacket I looked at her. It's strange how different people look when they are asleep. It's as if they become unravelled; the cares and worries fall away from them and you can see things you do not suspect about them.

Rowena's face looked a picture of innocence as she lay there. The tough impenetrable girl looked very vulnerable. I thought of the child she carried within her and wondered what would become of it, and Rowena.

I decided to let her sleep on. "She'll have left by the time I get home from work," I thought.

I made my way to work, a disturbed man. I kept asking myself why I should trouble myself over a street slut who would let anybody have her body for a place to sleep, and I couldn't find an answer.

On my drive home from work that evening I had an odd feeling of purposelessness. For a few hours the previous evening I had encountered someone who was larger than life as I had experienced it up to that time. Thoughtless, greedy, immoral and irritating were just some of the attributes I gave her, but for all that, she had brought, for that brief period, an exciting new dimension into my existence. What would I go home to now? An empty flat and a sister at the other end of the telephone whining about the latest ailment she had discovered.

I put the car away in the lockup garage and wretchedly climbed the creaking stairs to my flat.

Entering the flat I sensed immediately that something had changed. It was nothing physical I could detect like you can when you've had burglars invade your home. It was a sort of vibrancy in the atmosphere.

The next moment I was immobilized with incredulity. Rowena waddled out from the kitchen wearing my apron.

"There you are," she said like a scolding wife, "you didn't say what time you'd be home, so I couldn't start to cook the meal, but I've got it all ready."

Recovering I burst out with, "What the hell are you doing here, you're supposed to be gone."

"How could I leave," she said in her imperturbable manner. "You wouldn't give me any money; most guys wouldn't want my body the way it is, and in any case I don't want to risk the kid at this stage. Where else could I go?"

"There are organizations..." I began.

"Now you wouldn't want me going to those places, would you. Look, I won't be any trouble. I can cook and clean the place while you're at work and there'll be a meal ready for you when you get home. You might even find I'm nice to have around."

Whatever else having her around might be, "nice" was not a word I would have used to describe it.

"I thought you couldn't cook," I said.

"There you go," she taunted, "You didn't listen to me properly, you men never do. I never said I couldn't cook; what I said was I'd been eating takeaways. Now just go and wash or whatever you do and I'll get the meal ready."

I could barely believe what I was hearing. This totally unexpected and uninvited girl had virtually taken over my home. I was about to protest when the phone rang. I knew exactly who it would be so picking up the receiver I said, "Hello Phoebe."

The usual crackle of woes began at the other end, so I cut in harshly, "Phoebe, I haven't got time to talk to you now, I've got someone with me..."

"Yes, if you must know it's a woman...a girl..."

"Yes Phoebe, I said 'a girl', and for your further information she's pregnant and soon to give birth."

There was a howling gasp at the other end of the line, I said, "I've got to go Phoebe, I'll phone you when I'm not busy, goodbye."