Forty-seven years old, a little shorter than average, brown hair and balding, lived comfortably but not lavish; Bill was as plain as a white man could be.

By day, Bill was an interior decorator. He was skilled at his craft and he worked for himself; he valued the freedom it allowed him, and that he could command his own wage. He wasn’t extortionate, but he knew his own worth. Bill was passionate about his work, but he didn’t like to flaunt his flair.

Bill was single and had no children. He’d spent a considerable amount of time in and out of relationships, but life always found a way to dictate Bill’s direction. He knew that, at his age, most other people had a family or, at least, a significant other. Bill was not fazed and he acknowledged that nothing will ever be too late.

Throughout his twenties and marginally into his thirties, Bill unintentionally acquired the ability to choose partners that would leave damaging fingerprints.

The first of these wasn’t catastrophic; a woman that would spend two thirds of her time arguing with him, and the other third using her tears to convince him not to leave.

When they eventually parted, Bill moved on to what felt like the relationship of his dreams. Seemingly more perfect than perfect could be; after a less-than-stellar start to what was his first full decade as an adult, he had got something right. He suspected that he was punching above his weight, but that didn’t matter to him. He was happy, she was happy, they were happy together.

After the honeymoon period ended, it didn’t take long for the arguments to make their way into his life, before the arguments turned into violence. Not from Bill’s side of the aisle, for he simply accepted his new role as a mental, and sometimes physical, punch bag.

Finally, he decided he couldn’t take much more of her; one night after an argument, she threatened him with the sharpest knife in the kitchen. He felt he had to call for professional help. One restraining order and weeks of sleepless nights later, Bill knew he had to face life with nothing less than untouchable confidence.

His demeanour was detectable from far away, and it wasn’t long before Bill welcomed a new person into his life. Despite his better judgement and every intention that he had not to fall for her, he couldn’t help himself. She was what he needed, and he felt he could really build a life with her.

Everything was running more smoothly than he could have hoped for, until he awoke one morning to an empty bed and a silent house. He called out her name, but to no avail. As he walked into his kitchen, he found an envelope on the table with his name written on it. Inside it was a letter; in the letter, she detailed how head-over-heels she was for him and how it broke her heart to leave, but after spending the last several years falling deeper and deeper into credit card debt, she felt she had no choice but to flee the country. She gave no indication of where she was going, but she assured Bill he’d never find her; it destroyed her to leave, but she wrote that she’d do that a thousand times over than see any notion of heartbreak on his face.

With no close friends that he maintained regular contact with, Bill kept himself occupied with his work; he had found something he could devote his time to.

On his twenty-ninth birthday, he visited his parents, then went to his local pub. It was a Thursday, the atmosphere was relaxed and almost serene, just the way that Bill liked it most. Sat at the bar with nothing but his thoughts and a glass of whiskey, he reflected on his life, and how he liked the shape that it was becoming.

A woman entered the pub alone and she sat a few seats away from him. As she ordered herself a vodka and tonic, her eyes met his; his breath was taken away, and his heart tried to escape from his chest. She was younger than him, but not so young that it would seem strange if he spoke to her.

Before long, they were in Bill’s bed, and they spent the night together.

Their romance quickly blossomed, but after just over a year of sharing unrestricted laughter, carefree smiles, and an intense physicality with one another, Bill began to find signs of infidelity. He wasn’t an insecure man, but he would notice how reserved she would seem after a night out with friends. The final straw was the underwear he noticed in her handbag when she came home after she had been working late.

Bill was unhappy, she was unhappy, they were unhappy together, so they went their separate ways.

*

‘Hello?’ said Bill, as he answered his phone and sat up in his bed.

‘Hey, it’s Jason. I haven’t woke you, have I?’

‘No, of course not, I’m just lounging in bed. You alright?’ Bill rubbed his eyes and looked out of the window.

‘I’m good. Do you think you’ll still make it to start our kitchen today? We cleared everything out of it yesterday.’

‘Of course. Just got to get ready and tie a few things up first. I’ll be about an hour or two, is that okay?’ There wasn’t much that could keep Bill from working, not even a Saturday of Spring sunshine.

‘Brilliant. We’ve got to head out for a few hours, but we’ll leave the key in the usual place. Let yourself in, and we’ll see you a bit later.’

‘No worries, Jason, see you later.’ Bill ended the call, pulled off the duvet and sat on the edge of his bed. He let his lungs inflate as he reached for the sky, before vocalising the ecstasy of his morning stretch.

His morning routine was mundane: shower, shave, clothes, food, coffee. He would always inspect his paints and brushes before he left; there was nothing worse to Bill than turning up to a day’s work underequipped and unprepared. With a final count of his tools, he left his house and made his was to Jason’s and Barbara’s house.

Sure enough, their key was tucked away inside the lid of the light above their door. Bill let himself into the house, made a cup of coffee on the makeshift sideboard in the front room, and took his things into the kitchen.

Once he laid the first lick of paint onto a wall, he felt comforted. Being alone with a task that subtly contrasted simplicity and complexity was enough to take his mind away from the world, albeit temporarily. He relished in those few hours when he wouldn’t have to dedicate his thoughts to a single other thing.

*

‘Oh, wow,’ said a familiar voice from behind him. As he was finishing the final corner of the first coat on the last wall, he turned to see Jason and Barbara.

‘I absolutely love it,’ said Barbara.

‘It’s only the first coat, and the whole room it won’t be properly finished until next weekend.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘but the colour. It’s exactly what we wanted.’

‘Definitely the right colour,’ said Jason.

‘It just looks so much more stunning when it covers the whole room,’ said Barbara, unable to refrain from admiring every wall.

‘Well, thank you, I do appreciate your words,’ said Bill; he wore a slight smile on the outside, but was beaming inside. He was never able to agree with compliments, though he enjoyed receiving praise about his work.

‘And you said it was too risky having our kitchen red,’ said Barbara, as she nudged Jason. ‘What colour is it again, Bill?’

‘It’s somewhere between scarlet and firebrick,’ said Bill, who was always more than happy to showcase his knowledge of colour names.

*

After indulging in another cup of coffee and small talk with Jason and Barbara, he packed the remainder of his things and made his way back to his house under the late-afternoon rays. As he walked through his front door, he put down his equipment in the hallway and made his way to the kitchen. All he could think of on his walk home was what fresh fruit and vegetables he’d put in his evening smoothie. In the end, he decided he’d settle on an old favourite: banana, kiwi, cucumber and broccoli. He peeled and sliced his food, and blended it with a glass of water.

He gulped the last of his drink and walked to the door under the stairs. As he opened it and climbed down the steps to the basement, he could hear a faint whimper. He flicked the switch on the wall next to him and the room filled with dim light.

He looked up to see a naked woman nailed to the far wall by her limbs. Her body was covered in the dried blood. With what looked like last ounce of energy she had, she slowly raised her head and whimpered.

‘Well then,’ said Bill, ‘what are we going to do with you? I do think you’d make a wonderful claret red.’