Lovely

I was watching Masterchef Australia wishing I knew how to fillet a fish.

And cook a fish when there was a knock upon my door.

This had never happened before.

I sat for a while motionlessly hoping I was hallucinating with my ears.

Marco Pierre white was telling an Australian he'd burnt his fish skin.

I'd want my fish skin burnt.

Marco Pierre White was being a dick and I held the remote control and waited.

I've got Sky+ and I can pause live TV.

I pinched my lower lip.

Marco Pierre White's wild unkempt hair must get in his food when he cooks.

I'd imagined the knock.

I watched the clock and relaxed in my chair.

There was five minutes to go in the double elimination.

The fat woman in the hijab was in trouble.

Her rice pudding was never going to cook.

Not in a million years.

Knock knock knock.

I paused the TV on a shot of Marco Pierre White and although he'd only been talking I'd paused it on a frame that made him look insane with his eyes half closed. The first time I thought I'd heard the knock it'd stressed me out but the second knocks were much worse. Like how they grade earthquakes. The second knocking was not just twice as stressful as the first lot, it was ten times worse. There's two doorbells outside that prevent unsolicited knocking so that meant whoever was on the other-side of the door knocking was on the other-side of the door and knocking. Had to be the guy from upstairs or, well, let's not beat about the bush, a ghost, and I wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of opening the door to either and I thought about pretending I was in the bath.

I'd bump into Pedro on the stairwell later and he'd say, 'I was knocking on your door,' and I'd reply, 'yeah, I was in the bath.' That's life. That's what I'd do I decided as I stared at Marco Pierre White's grimace that reminded me of that photo from Vietnam. The guy shooting the other guy in the head. I listened for his footsteps but instead heard a knock. The fuck? I mouthed. I was going to have to answer the door or sit there for God knows how long pretending to be in the bath. Three knocks though and I hadn't moved I decided I may as well wait it out. If there's a forth I would answer the door, ghost or foreign man from upstairs be damned, but I wasn't going to give up now. I'd gone this far. I looked at the arm of my chair and heard the forth set of knocks and stood and went to the door. I opened it and the foreign man from upstairs was standing there with an empty bowl.

"Sorry, I was in the bath. Didn't hear you knocking." I said. "Were you even knocking?" I asked realising in the nick of time I'd nearly blown it.

"Si, I knock, I no want to bother you," He said.

"It's okay," I lied.

"Es... you no have no heroin just maybe?"

"Ooh, no, sorry mate, I haven't. I don't... I don't use it," I did that apologetic face people do even though they've no reason to apologize. Like when somebody asks you for directions and you don't know them and you feel you've let them down.

"S'okay, s'okay," said the man but he looked so sad. His shoulders were slumping as I watched.

"Yeah, sorry," I told him. The man took a deep breath and when he let it out his shoulders were lower than ever. He was looking at his pathetic empty bowl that didn't have any heroin in it.

"Sorry for bother you," he said turning ninety degrees and looking up the steps.

"Yeah, sorry mate, I just-" But the guy cut me off by lifting his left hand. He was upset. I watched him slowly mount the first step. And then the second. It was too much. "Hey, Pedro!" I said. Pedro turned and told me his name was Enrique. "Enrique, I've got some morphine, that any good to you?"

"Morpy?" He said looking down at me.

"Morphine, liquid morphine."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, morphine, powerful stuff, you need a prescription. You want some?" I asked. Enrique wasn't sure. He'd had his heart set on heroin. "You may as well take some, I've got loads."

"No, I okay," said Enrique turning and looking back up the stairs. He wasn't moving though. I waited and when he didn't take another step and called him again.

"Come and see this," I told him standing aside. He looked at me and then walked down the three steps he'd gone up and into my flat. The guy smelt good. I showed him into my bathroom. "I let the water out," I told him pointing at the bone dry bath and then I distracted him by opening the airing cupboard door and showing him all of my marvellous medicines. Two shelves of the stuff in opaque plastic containers. Three containers on each shelf. "Check it out," I said pulling out a container packed with pill boxes, small brown plastic bottle and larger glass bottles.

"Holy macaroni!" Said Enrique.

"Yeah, I just find them at work."

"You bin man," Said Enrique nodding and peering into the container I was holding. He was perking up.

"Bin man! Fuck off!" I said. "I work at the waste disposal plant." Enrique looked up at me saw I was correcting him and apologised and then went back to peering into the container. He picked up a small brown plastic bottle and turned it around. "Most of the labels have gone," I told him. "Been out in the rain," I said. Enrique nodded picked up other things, turning them around and placing them back. "There's gotta be some good shit in there."

"No heroin?" He asked.

"Nah, there might be that heroin substitute. What's it called?"

"Dunno," said Enrique still moving things around the container I held.

"Oh, I know it..." I said but I couldn't think of it. I knew I'd think of it as soon as he'd gone. I hate that. "That's the morphine," I said holding and shaking a glass bottle. "Knocks you out." Enrique nodded. "Just take a selection," I told him.

"Chu sure, man?"

"Yeah, go for it," I said. I put the container on the bathroom floor and Enrique gave me his bowl. I tipped a few pills from a few bottles into the bowl. I took out a few foil wrapped blister packs of different sized squashed boxes and topped it off with a bottle of morphine. "That should keep you going," I said my hands on my knees. I was happy with what I'd done. I stood and handed him the bowl.

"How much?"

"Dah, don't worry about it," I said waving my hand at him. I put the container back in its space in the airing cupboard. "I got loads of this shit," I said looking at the shit I had loads of.

"Chu sure, man?" He asked holding his bowl.

"Yeah, sure. Be careful with that shit though, yeah?"

"Just medicine, man," he said.

"True enough, hey, you'll probably get really healthy if you eat all that," I said and Enrique laughed. He looked at the bowl he was holding like an offering plate and shook it so the pills moved around a bit.

"Why you keep all dis?" Asked Enrique and I didn't tell him because of the end of I Am Legend.

"Seemed like a waste," I told him and then we stood there in the bathroom. Looking in the bathroom mirror I could see the reflection of the living room and Marco Pierre White's paused and twisted face. I showed Enrique out. He went up the stairs carefully holding his bowl.

That night I heard a whole load of laughing and babbling coming from upstairs. It was funny, that contagious laughter and I chuckled too and shook my head. Enrique was alright.

The next morning Methadone was my first waking thought.