by Bateman
I went back downstairs and into the kitchen. I extracted a pair of red Marigolds from beneath the sink and pulled them on. I moved into the corridor leading to our small utility, and opened the electricity meter box, above which there was a shelf on which I kept handy household items like bulbs, and fuse wire, and screwdrivers and hammers. I selected a hammer. I weighed it in my rubber hand. And it was good.
I took a stool from the kitchen and moved it along the hall towards the front door. I sat on it, hammer in hand, and waited.
After twenty minutes I heard footsteps outside, and the doorbell was rung, and I thought maybe that Alison had forgotten her key, but then I saw from the outlines in the glass that it wasn’t her, so I got off the stool and answered the door and there were two well-scrubbed young men there in brown suits. They had plenty of teeth and were using them. They did not appear unduly surprised to see me in a dress. In their line, they were probably used to all sorts, and were just happy that I had not immediately shut the door in their faces. They were not aware of the hammer, which was behind my back.
‘Good afternoon,’ one said. He had to be in his mid-twenties, with a good tan. ‘We’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints. We’re visiting houses in the area and we were wondering if we could come in and have a chat with you about our missionary work and God’s good news?’
I stepped aside and said, ‘Be my guest,’ and they looked heartened and hopeful as they passed by me, into my house, and I closed the door after them.