The Fourteenth Theory of Is
an excerpt

He turned around. ‘Oh, good morning!’ his accent was thick and Russian. She stopped dead, thinking up obscure plans to dive for the phone and call the police. ‘Would you like bacon and eggs? I did not steal from the fridge, the food is mine.’ the man continued.

‘Um…’

‘I am sorry, no time for introduce. My name is Albert Gorbatov.’ He smiled. ‘Nice day. I can tell though it is dark. There are no clouds and look at the colour in the sky.’ He gestured towards the window.

‘Who… are you? I mean, why are you here?’ sputtered Eleanor, feeling shaky.

‘Right, I am sorry. I will be renting your suite, if you allow.’

‘My… oh.’ That at least made some sense. Her father had decided to rent out their basement suite for the extra income it would bring. ‘Um, and why have I never heard of you before?’

‘Because I have only just come.’

‘What? Did my father…?’

‘Oh, no. I have not met him yet.’

‘So you broke in and uh.’ She stopped and simply stared at him. He was old, maybe seventy and his eyes were lively. He was wearing a red knitted sweater, jeans, and a weird sort of tri-peaked hat she hadn’t seen the likes of before. He didn’t look like the sort who broke into houses and caused disruption.

‘Yes, the door would not open. I hope you do not mind. Eggs?’ he had scooped out a fried egg and dumped it on one of their plastic plates.

Eleanor took it, knowing nothing else to do. They smelled like ordinary eggs. He scooped out two strips of bacon and put them beside the eggs on the plate. ‘You’re Russian?’ she said.

‘How did you guess?’

‘Your accent.’

‘Ah.’ He grinned as if at some secret joke. ‘ More bacon?’