The House Swap

Prologue

She doesn’t notice me when she goes to sit down, brushing past my chair as if I’m not even there.

But I see her.

Loose strands escape the ponytail her hair is tied back in, framing her pale face, and she smells of lavender. They all have something that sets them apart. That’s how I remember them. And this is hers.

When the waitress approaches, she glances briefly at the menu, even though she already knows everything on it. Two lines crease between her eyebrows as she frowns in concentration.

‘Could I have a peppermint tea, please, and a flapjack?’

She speaks the words softly, her voice warm and polite.

I lower my eyes, just in case she notices me. Watching too closely makes people uneasy. They can sense it, even if they haven’t seen you looking. I’ve learned that.

The waitress returns to the counter and when I glance the woman’s way again, she has her phone out and she is smiling at something on the screen.

It’s an unguarded smile, the type people make when they think they’re alone, even in public, and I wonder what she is looking at.

Is she reading a message from someone or has she seen something amusing on social media?

I don’t dwell on it. There’s no need. Instead, I observe and take note. There’s a comfort in it now. The noticing, and the quiet collecting of details.

After a few minutes, her order is brought to the table and although I sip my coffee, pretending to scroll on my own phone, I notice every detail.

The way she holds her cup. How she brushes the crumbs of the flapjack from her fingers after taking a bite.

The brief lift of her head whenever the door opens.

I remain where I am. Just another shape in the background. Someone she doesn’t notice, so will never remember. That’s the easiest part. It always has been.

When she leaves, she doesn’t look back.

That’s fine.

They never do.