The Engineer lived just outside a small village in Lombardy, Northern Italy. He’d lived there all of his life. In fact, he’d lived there as long as anyone could remember. He never seemed to age.
“Dye’s his hair of course” my mum said.
“But he hasn’t aged, Phoebe, no wrinkles, no liver spots. He still looks the same as he did when I was a little girl”
Mum and Betsy sipped their tea silently. I was only seven and didn’t know the Engineer very well. He scared me a little bit. He was very nice enough, gave me sweets sometimes, but his eyes were dark and cold. His jet black hair and mustache showed no signs of grey. I guessed his height to be a little under six feet because he was a little shorter than my brother, and my brother was six foot two. Words weren’t his thing and he used them as little as possible. A tight smile was his only humorous expression, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“Has he ever been married?” Betsy asked mum.
“Not that I know of, I think he dated once, for a year or so, but the she disappeared. Never saw her again.”
“Maybe its a good thing, not sure he’s make a good dad if kids came along. I wonder if he wears make-up. His eyebrows are perfect.”
“Could be gay! That would explain the marriage thing!”
A loud rapping on the door startled us all.
“Its him!” Mum said.
“Don’t be silly Phoebe. Why would he be knocking at your front door?”
“My boiler is playing up. Sometimes we have no hot water.”
“Did you call him” Betsy asked.
“No! I never call him, he just seems to know when something needs fixing.”
Mum’s voice was quiet, she sounded scared. Her hand shook slightly as she put her tea-cup down. “Betsy, come to the door with me.”
I watched as they opened the door. The engineer stood on the step, a tight-lipped smile on his face. He wore jeans, perfectly pressed with a crease down the front and a blue denim shirt. His fashionable shoes were highly polished. A draft blew in from behind him, or perhaps it came from him. I shivered.
“Good Morning Ladies, Phoebe I understand you have a faulty boiler.”