There but for The (11 page)

problem.

In the middle of the party this man,

we’ll call him “Milo,” left the

room and went upstairs. While

we merrily continued with our

dinner party downstairs he was

actually barricading himself into

one of the rooms in our house.

The next morning we woke up to

a fact that we have lived with

since that day. A stranger is

living in our house against

our will.

It has now been three months,

and it is simply an experience

unlike any I have hitherto

had. The man has made himself

incommunicado for an

unfathomable reason

in our spare room with my

rowing machine and my husband’s

wine-making kits and DVD

collections of sci-fi classics

of the fifties and sixties,

a room which we were about to

turn into a badly needed study

for our daughter who has

important school exams this

coming year. He never speaks

and only once in the whole time

has sent us a written message,

about the food we provide free for

him; it is one of the little ironies

of the situation that for “Milo”

the dinner party he came

to as our guest has never

ended. Looking back now it is

also ironic to remember

myself hearing the creak of his

footsteps on our stairs as I

prepared the dessert that first

night not knowing what was really

afoot.

It is strange having a stranger

in the house with you all the

time. It makes you strangely

self-aware, strange to yourself.

It is literally like living with

a mystery. Sometimes I stand

in the hall and listen to the

silence. It sounds uncanny

and feels like I imagine

being haunted must feel like.

Sometimes the water flushing

or “Milo” moving about

in the middle of the night

wakes me or Eric and we

have the realization, all over

again, that we are not alone.

Sometimes I sit outside the door

behind which “Milo” is sitting

and just say over and over to myself

the word: Why? Perhaps in

some ways metaphorically we

are all like this man “Milo”—all of

us locked in a room in a house

belonging to strangers.

Except that this is our house

which makes it all seem

unfair and unnecessary.

A friend asked if we aren’t

tempted just to go ahead and

use brute force and break down our

beautiful and authenticated c
17
th

door and send in the police or

someone who would simply

remove “Milo.” I am a peaceable