Isolation

by Jenni Regan

  I was halfway down the list when I came across Stan. He had been quiet for a while, and I was worried that he was annoyed at me for some reason, but I also knew he was the one person who had been kind and seemed to care. I knew I would need to give him something to regain his attention; after all that had been happening with my granny and the funeral and then running out of money, I had been neglecting his needs recently.

  Feeling brave, I went to my room, sat on my bed and pulled down my pyjamas. Sitting on the edge of the bed I took pictures of myself ‘down there’. I sneaked a look at the results between shots, as I had no idea what I looked like. I was horrified at the red squidgy mess I could see, nothing like the symmetrical hair-free vaginas I had seen online. I needed to improve things a little, so I got a razor from the bathroom. The only one I could find looked ancient and rusty; I guessed it was my granddad’s from many years ago. I wet the razor and scraped away down there trying to get as many hairs as possible. After a few minutes, I took another picture and looked. I was dismayed to see that the razor had only cut a few of the hairs, which meant that as well as my lips being different sizes, my hair was also different lengths. The razor had also left me with a nasty rash. I shoved on some aftershave that stung horribly and went back to my room where the light was softer and took another shot.

  Before I could change my mind, I filtered it and sent this to Stan, texting him that ‘here is mine finally.’ I knew this is what he wanted from me and guessed that if I wanted his help then I needed to compromise. I hoped that I didn’t look too different or strange from other girls. Stan didn’t reply straight away, which made me feel exposed and worried that I was being rejected. I passed my time by making a list of all the food in the freezer and working out how long it would last me. Worryingly, I only reached four days before I would officially be destitute. I really needed Stan’s help.

  He finally replied when I was deep in the middle of watching a programme on the iPlayer about fat pets.

  ‘Liked the self portrait sexy u sure know how 2 turn a man on. Hope there will be more where that came from?!’

  I immediately switched into Online Alice mode thinking that this would be a conversation I would have had many times over.

  ‘Sure thing just tell me what you want to see next?’

  ‘I want to c u touch yourself. Is webcam working yet?’

  ‘No but if u wait 5 mins I will send picture’

  ‘How about u fone me while u r taking it? That would be really sexy.’

  I didn’t want to tell him that I had many ways of making a video call on my various computers and decided a phone call would be less painful than filming.

  ‘OK I will call you in 5 mins’

  My heart was beating in my chest as I headed upstairs to my bedroom. Even though I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me, I still felt exposed as I sat on my bed. I finally plucked up the courage to call him, and he picked up almost immediately. His voice sounded deep and rich with a slight twang that I guessed showed his London roots. He took control of the conversation immediately, telling me where to touch myself and what to do.

  I played along giving him a running commentary of what I was apparently doing while actually flicking through my Insta account looking at beautiful travel shots and pets. I found it quite inspiring, and my sexy ‘chat’ was probably greatly enhanced by what I was looking at.

  He asked me to talk dirty to him and so I used all the rude words I knew to tell him about my pussy. I realised that I sounded more like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music than some kind of porn star, but it seemed to work. As I spoke about his hard cock, his breath was coming harder and faster.

  ‘Oh my god, baby, I’m gonna come. Are you coming too?’

  I didn’t want to let him down, so I racked my brains for what the women had done on the porn I had seen. I seemed to recall them making groaning noises, so I tried a few of my own as well as throwing in a few yeses!

  Stan cried out as if he was in pain, and then the phone went silent. I was worried I had done something wrong, but thankfully he spoke.

  ‘Wow, baby, that was really good. You know how to turn a man on. Did you come?’

  I lied and told him that, yes, of course I had. I was relieved that I could now stop the pretence, and I wondered if I could find some kind of script or even cobble together some kind of video I could play out next time. I hoped that by doing this I had given him enough to be able to ask for some help in return. As I put the phone down, I sent him one more shot for luck.

  Alice

  19 September 2018, 3 p.m.

  After the whole death and funeral storyline had run its natural course (I found that sympathy waned about a week after the funeral), I felt a bit lost. I was almost excited when I got a text to tell me that my sofa would be delivered that afternoon. I really had to replace the ruined sofa; I was not frivolously purchasing it as this was a necessity. Apart from the Tesco delivery men, I hadn’t set eyes on a real person since Granny had died.

  I had really got the hang of the online shop now and wondered why anyone would bother going out, pushing a trolley around and returning home with masses of bags when it was so easy to do it online. I still wasn’t over the thrill of being able to order whatever I wanted, and so my virtual trolley was usually loaded with sweet and sugary treats of every description. I worried what the delivery men thought of me when they delivered such an excessive order, but I always tipped them and talked about my big family, and I figured they probably saw it all in their jobs. There were bound to be people who were worse than me.

  In honour of the imminent delivery, I got dressed. This was something that had slipped in the last few weeks. This was partly because there seemed to be no real reason to get clothes on when I would only have to change back into my pyjamas when I went to bed but it was also because a lot of my clothes were feeling tight on me now and the oversized bedclothes I wore covered up my body with little strain. Still, I found a pair of leggings and a t-shirt that didn’t split in protest at my size.

  By the time I was ready, it was lunchtime, so I made myself a microwaved lasagne and chips. I still hadn’t really got the hang of the washing up in the kitchen and had worked out I could save on plates by eating straight out of the dish. I had also bought disposable forks in my previous shop. There was still waste, and I was becoming concerned about the bin bags that were being flung into my garden from the front door that didn’t seem to be getting picked up, but I was sure some kindly bin man would do so, eventually.

  Finished with lunch, I sat and waited, filling my time by using an online app where you could re-decorate your home. I didn’t really have a clue about decoration but had a go at pinning up a few different wallpapers to go with my new sofa. Eventually, the doorbell went, and I shot up to answer it. Two men in high vis jackets grunted a hello as they pushed past me into the hall.

  ‘Right, love, so where is the old one?’ the smaller one asked me. I could smell cheese and onion crisps on his breath, which sickened me and yet made me crave a packet in equal measures. I almost asked if he had any left.

  ‘It’s through here in the living room. Can I get you both a nice cuppa or some biscuits?’ I offered, thinking this was what grown-ups did with tradesman and finding I was craving company.

  ‘Oh no, you're alright, love. We’ve got plenty more sofas to deliver this afternoon, so we can’t sit around putting our feet up, unfortunately.’ The small one answered again, presumably the spokesperson for both.

  I was disappointed. I had even prepared a tray with mugs and some chunky chocolate cookies I had bought. Instead of heading to the kitchen, I showed them through to the living room and pointed out the sofa.

  ‘Blimey, love, looks like someone died on there; no wonder you are getting rid of it!’

  I almost blurted out the truth that someone had died on there but then panicked that these men would have a duty to tell the police or the social workers what they had seen. I thought quickly.

  ‘Actual
ly, it was my poor sick granny, who is now in hospital. She had a terrible bug and was sick all over it and you know what else. My mum is visiting her now.’ This last bit was added in case either man thought I was home alone. I knew that I looked a lot younger than my twenty-one years.

  Neither man seemed bothered at this story or even wished my gran a speedy recovery, which annoyed me slightly. They huffed and puffed their way out of the room and then out of the house with the old sofa. I suddenly felt bereft; after all, that was the sofa I had grown up with, where I had spent many happy hours relaxing, playing or watching TV with Gran. But it was also the scene of some of my worst memories. Seeing it going onto the truck no doubt headed for some dump, I almost felt as sad as when my gran had died, but then I pulled myself together. It was only a sofa, and really, Granny should have replaced it years ago.

  I was excited when I saw the two men unloading my new sofa. Granny would have hated it. She was a lifelong fan of chintz, but the new eggshell-blue creation was just right for me. I hadn’t really thought about the practicalities of having a light-coloured seat just sitting there and welcoming stains from plates of food and cups of tea. After a lot of toing and froing, they got the new sofa in the house and safely installed in the living room. The carpet and the rest of the décor looked immediately old and dated compared to the shiny new sofa. I wondered about getting online and ordering up a whole new room immediately, but I could hear Granny’s voice in my head calling me a spendthrift, so I gave up on the idea almost immediately. Once the men had gone, I jumped onto the sofa and lay on the whole length of it, enjoying the feel of the crisp new fabric and soft cushions. Finally, this room felt like a room I could sit in again and not just some place my granny had died.

  I was on the new sofa doing my new bi-weekly shop when I hit a new problem. My little trolley was full, and I had put the card details in when an error message came up telling me that my card was declined and advising me to contact my bank. I couldn’t do this as it wasn’t actually my bank card, and I couldn’t well ask Gran to do it as she was no longer here.

  This didn't make sense; I knew Gran had lots of money as Granddad had left her well provided for, so I decided to investigate. Heading to the room that had always been called the study but was in fact just a room with a table and a filing cabinet, I felt like a detective. There was a familiar smell in here of Grandad's pipe. I had once loved that smell but now it made me feel sick.

  I wasn’t sure what I was looking for as I rifled through the files, but I hit the jackpot when I came across the files marked Bank. This contained what seemed to be hundreds of pieces of paper with lots of funny codes and amounts written down. I guessed these must be bank statements. I had one bank account of my own that Uncle Tom had started when I was young, but I knew it only had a couple of hundred pounds in it and I had only ever looked at this money online; I didn’t even have a card for this account. My gran had always provided for me knowing I couldn't sort things out for myself. It wasn’t as if I wanted for much anyway; I didn’t really have much use for money until now.

  Eventually, I worked out that Granny had these statements in date order. There were two different types, one called a current account and one a savings account. In the current account, there seemed to be a few hundred pounds moving around each month, and I could see things like bills and shopping going out regularly. I guessed that this was the account that was related to the card I had been using. Much more impressive was the savings account, which had a grand total of £117,692 in it in the latest statement. The only things marked on these statements were monthly interest and a monthly payment out into Gran’s current account. I then remembered that Gran went to the bank and the post office once every couple of weeks. I hadn’t been with her for years but guessed that this was when she picked up her pension and moved money from her savings account. Gran had been such a technophobe, she would never have set up online or even telephone banking. I realised with a heavy heart that I had access to a whole heap of money but annoyingly couldn’t touch it unless I ventured out to the bank myself. I knew after my last attempt at leaving the house that this was highly unlikely to happen.

  I felt like giving up, I was more than happy to carry on my life exactly how I was living it. All my needs were met in this house. There was no longer any danger, and it was just my thoughts that scared me these days. Ironic that it was this house that held some bad memories and yet it was the world outside the door that sent me into a panic. I knew the sensible thing to do would be to tell someone—I could work out who—but I also knew this would mean being thrust back out there. It would mean authority and questioning, and after what had happened before, I couldn't bear to go through that again. I had done nothing wrong and wasn't harming anyone by living this way, but I needed to think of a way to make this a long-term plan.

  I put all the papers back and sat and had a think. I probably had enough food in the house to last me a few weeks, and in the meantime, I could try and figure out a way of getting my hands on the savings. I was tough; I could live with black tea for a few weeks, and something was bound to come up!

  Alice

  13 September 2018, 2 p.m.

  By day three of life without Gran, I was almost getting used to things. It was amazing how quickly you could adjust to situations. The new became the normal. I was quite enjoying the freedom of being able to do and eat what I wanted when I wanted. I had unfortunately run out of a few things like milk and bread, but I had stopped making my gran cups of tea and had switched to cans of coke myself. I kept the TV on all day and had totally immersed myself in the online world, holding as many conversations as possible to distract myself from the growing problem in the living room.

  The growing problem was my gran. I could no longer pretend that she was just sitting there asleep. Her face was almost unrecognisable, her body was decomposing despite me keeping the heat off, and the smell was overpowering, far stronger than the shake and vac I had sprinkled around and the growing number of Glade plug-ins I had dotted around the place. I knew I had to do something but didn't know what it was.

  Feeling strong after a breakfast of crumpets, ice cream and bacon, I turned online for some advice. Feeling like a criminal, I typed in, ‘What to do with a dead body?’ hoping that no one was spying on me from the government or even Google. My choices seemed endless, from the sensible (call a doctor) to the ridiculous (set it on fire in the middle of a river, according to some religions). Then I came across a site that had the ‘Top ten TV body disposals.’ I knew quite a few of them, including the acid bath that had failed so spectacularly in Breaking Bad, but most options seemed to need a car or lots of equipment. Then my eye landed on something that could work for me, the classic ‘body in the freezer.’ Admittedly, this talked about sawing the body up, and in the TV series they were talking about, it was a walk-in freezer at a mobster-run restaurant. Nonetheless, I still thought that this was the most sensible option in my situation.

  I headed down to the basement, opening the chest freezer and mentally working out how I could fit my gran in there. I reckoned that if I took out about half the food, then the body would fit in. I transported food from the basement to the kitchen. Some would fit in the freezer upstairs, but I soon ran out of space. I put the rest in the fridge, knowing I would have to eat it up pretty quickly.

  Next came the mammoth task of moving my gran down to the basement. Thankfully, my granny was quite a small lady, as she was a feeder instead of a glutton like her granddaughter. I hoped she would be as light as a feather. Firstly, I went into the kitchen and pulled on the rubber gloves that had a comedy fur trim and big diamond ring on them, a gift I had found online for my granny last year. I also put on the apron. I couldn’t reach the tie around my waist, so I left it hanging loosely. Grabbing the roll of bin liners, I was armed and ready.

  However prepared I felt, the reality was very different when I came face to face with the problem. Sitting in the room with my smelly, decomposing grandma, I burst
into tears. I had always had my gran to tell me what to do, and now I longed for someone else to step in and take over. I thought again about my options. Number one, I could contact a family member, like Uncle Tom or even at a push Rachel, my mother, but that would need a lot more explaining. Option two, I could call 999 and pretend that I had just found my gran. The third choice, and the one I had previously decided on, was to hide Granny and pretend that nothing had happened.

  This could be my chance to stand on my own two feet rather than being probed and manipulated by the authorities as I had all those years before. I also had to consider that neither my mother nor my uncle had ever had any kind of relationship with Granny, so why would they care now? I also couldn’t shake off the idea that either may reject me again; after all, my mum had never tried to get in contact with me and Tom had moved to the other side of the Atlantic. Neither offered hope that they would love and support me through this. After weighing all the pros and cons, I felt there was only one option.

  I could barely bring myself to touch my gran, and I kept gagging at the sight. I wrapped bin liners around my arms to offer more protection against the decaying corpse. I wondered if I should wrap my gran in the bags before or after I moved her. For my peace of mind and so I didn’t have to look at the horrible sunken face of Granny, I covered her head with a bin bag. I then decided it would make more sense if the whole body was covered, so I grabbed the parcel tape from the kitchen and set about mummifying Granny. I imagined it was like dressing a baby in a Babygro, only a lot bigger—and possibly easier since Granny was not wriggling around. With the black, faceless shape in front of me, it was a lot easier to imagine that this was an inanimate object rather than a body, and in my head, I decided that I was moving a roll of carpet.