The Fox

A piece I wrote a few months ago, set even later still, in 1950s...

How did it all begin? I remember it as clear as the sky that day, a much-anticipated English-blue, only ever witnessed on those rare summer afternoons. I was admiring it so much that I did not see him peddling towards me, even on that blaze of burgundy. An Schwinn New World, they were just so charming, it suited him perfectly. He was forever whisking around on it; I used to joke that he looked too confident, as if he’d just sped away from conning someone. That made him laugh, that cackling giggle.

Anyway, after almost knocking me to the ground – my own fault mind, but if I had been looking, who knows what would have happened – he sharply pulled up to the fence, leaping off in the swiftest of styles.

Well, he was rather striking: his auburn crop was slicked ever so slightly, exasperating his angular features – Foxy was his nickname for it, I can see why now – and hazel eyes. Sometimes I swear they flickered with amber.

After that, it sped into romance. My mother was rather weary of teddy boys, but she soon adored him like her own, allowing his witticisms and even overlooking his whiskers, which grew too quick when he hadn’t shaved. It was only the beagle that didn’t approve, but then Buddy wasn’t exactly the sharpest tack.

And it is only now I wish I had paid attention to that dog.

It began with a little bit of money disappearing. Then, gradually, more and more. I was rather concerned – and him too – yet he was the article of innocence and charm. When, one day, I did confront him, he whirled around, as if I’d pinned him against a wall. And, just like our meeting, I will never forget that day:

“But-how could you accuse me? Can’t you see I’m trying to help your family too? Don’t you trust me?” He thrust guilt into my throat, but he wasn’t finished: “I have always been there for you.”

I told him I was sorry, I loved him, I was tired, I was stressed, I just was.

I felt terrible; he was the most charming, most compassionate, most handsome man I’d met. I couldn’t believe I could have accused him, especially after his reaction.

One week later, he’d scampered away with the money.

Into the countryside somewhere, further than here. Ironically, it turned out even when we’d first met, he was cycling away from his most recent theft. Oh, he was a fox all right. A deceptively cunning fox.