Wetherby Close

She shrieked at me when I told her she had to leave. Hissed and spat like an angry little kitten. You can't do that! she said. Well, shouted, really. I'm an estate agent, you know! she added, as if she were telling me she were a big, hot shot lawyer, or something. (Ha. As if. I'm still on the look out for a decent lawyer.) I know you can't just evict me! she seethed. I have rights!

Blah blah blah. I told her to read the small print of her contract, and left.

I was worried about her wondering around... out there. With too much info. I mean. Not all the info. I'm not stupid. Nor is she. Not completely, anyway. But I'm sure she picked up some stuff. Some oddities. The wrong thing said to the wrong person...

Anyway. She thinks I'm some kind of evil spider. Building an empire. Controlling everything.

If it's not perfect, it has to go, isn't that right? That's what she snarled at me, in her quaint little kitchen.

She's got it all wrong. I'm looking after these people. These women. I'm protecting them. They came to me for help, and I helped, but there's a hitch. Don't get me wroong, once the Upgrades are done, they're better off. Happier. Safer. They sleep better. Have more time for themselves, to pursue their interests. Frankly, after a short transition period, they have better, more satisfying sex. The downside is that it's not perfect. Sometimes, the mask slips. That makes us vulnerable. We could be exposed, and then it all comes crashing down.

God, the stress.

I figured, why not all stay in one place? We don't have to worry that the neighbour might suspect something is up, if we are all each other's neighbours. We can relax.

I can relax.

Funds weren't an issue. Jac can always find funds. The plan was to buy up every house on the street, but of course for some I didn't have to. Not if the person living there wanted an Upgrade.

I thought Celeste was a real find, at first. Fast tracking listings, applying a bit of pressure. Pulling strings, obstructing a scale. It was nothing to what Jac could do in cyberspace, but it was handy having some real, tangible, boots on the ground.

But she messed up, didn't she? First she got Mikayla in Number Six. Neither Mikayla nor Nate had anything to offer us. Didn't exactly fit in with our little group. I know, that makes me sound like a snob, but whatever. Some people gel, and some don't. I wanted everyone to get along, that's all. If we all have to live next to each other, it just makes sense.

Celeste was under pressure from her boss to get tenants into that property. Couldn't have a nice little earner like that sitting empty. She caved to him instead of listening to me.

I thought, Okay, I can work with this. Ugh, It took ages to get Nate Upgraded. He always avoided any social interaction with anyone other than his immediate family. Of course, that meant that there was a thing that Mikayla wanted to change. Leverage. Because Mikayla wanted to fit in. So bad. Didn't want to hang around on the edges. Cornering Nate and getting that chip into his head turned out to be bloody difficult.

Before I'd managed that, she did it again. Bloody Celeste moved in another couple, right next door to Mikayla. Well, there had to be consequences, didn't there?

I showed up when the new couple moved in. Got a good look at them. She's normal. Cath or something, her name is. The fella seemed alright. Treats her okay, fairly well-adjusted. Not bad to look at.

We rolled out the welcome mat, like we did the last couple of times someone moved in. I made it clear to Celeste that she wasn't invited. It was a nice evening, actually. How often do we all get together? We should do it more often. Maybe.

The new guy might have a problem with binge-drinking. That could be something we could use.

"So," Rita said, topping up her glass, "Let's talk street names. Any thoughts?"

"I've changed my mind," I told her. "It should stay as it is. I think Wetherby Close is perfect."

"Really?" She smiles, radiating confidence. Unlike the first time I met her. "Why?"

I smile back.

"It sounds pleasant and ordinary. If we choose something, it'll be like when someone chooses a fake name; it gives a clue to their identity, doesn't it?"

"I suppose so," Rita says, and the other women murmur agreement.

The truth is, I looked up what wether means, and every time I see that sign on the end of our road, I grin all over.

It means castrated ram.

Don't you think that's neat?

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Thank you for reading!