ELEVEN HOURS of Soul Searching

Agatha

Every child has a fear of monsters. Depending on a child, their monster has precisely identified features - like sharp teeth or no teeth at all. It can have a fur or slimy skin; it sometimes squeaks but mostly growls. In most cases, it lives in a closet or under the bed. And it always comes out from there when the child is alone, in the darkness of their bedroom.

As a kid, I had a monster too. But it wasn't a creation of my imagination. It lived behind the fence; was always wearing high heel shoes and smelled of lavender. Her name was Agatha, and she was our next-door neighbour.

I was six years old when we moved into a cosy three-bedroom house in a charming crescent in the London borough of Richmond upon Thames.

I remember very vividly when I saw her for the very first time.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, and our whole family of three was coming back from the walk by the river. I know for a fact it was Sunday because that was the only day of the week when I was allowed to wear my pink lacy dress and have ice creams. When we were nearly home, I was still indulging myself with the most delicious vanilla and bubble gum flavours when she suddenly emerged from her hideout.

I heard the lock in the house next door open, a quick click-clacking of heels on the concrete driveway, followed by an ear-piercing sound.

'What an adorable little creature you are!' 

A very slender woman with a black puffed-up hairdo and vulgar makeup leaned over me and pinched my cheeks as an auntie would do, but the way that hurt. Her breath smelled of something I wasn't familiar with at the time, but what later turned out to be gin and tonic.

That encounter scared me so much that I dropped my ice creams on the floor, leaving stains on my pretty dress, and burst into a convulsive sob. 

I will never forget that mocking expression on her face and a pure pleasure she was taking in looking at me crying. 

 I was quickly comforted by my mum, that grabbed me in her arms. Poor mum. She was so confused by my reaction that she apologised Agatha for my outburst.

As the days passed, Agatha was becoming a frequent guest in our home. She was an unmarried lady in her late thirties, childless and jobless. It was a mystery where her income was coming from.

Her regular unannounced visits for dinner were practically becoming a family tradition. My parents were too polite to push her back behind the line she crossed on so many occasions. 

Each time she visited, apart from the strong smell of lavender, she would bring a fresh dose of gossips from the neighbourhood. 

There was rarely ever anything nice coming out of her mouth. Her negativity would make the air harder to breathe and any room darker, even though it was a sunny day outside. I found myself hiding from her in my room and would leave only when she was gone.

Once, when I was eleven, I came back from dance classes - as already back then I knew what I wanted to do in my life - hungry as a bear after training I dug in the lasagna when the news was broken to me.

'We need to be somewhere tonight honey. Dad and I need to attend an important business meeting, so I am afraid Agatha will be watching you this evening.'

My appetite was gone suddenly, and my stomach churned.

'But I am big enough to stay by myself. Please, don't leave me with her,' I begged hysterically, but no matter how loud I cried, a few hours latter I ended up waving them goodbye at her front door.

It must have been clearly an act of desperation, as I recall the terror on my mum's face when she and dad got into a cab and drove off.

Agatha was very excited about the idea at first until the car disappeared around the corner. Then something changed in her.