“My husband says that we have been infected by one of those Russian virus things.”
Svetlanas rough accent cut through the silence that hung as we watched her computer screen fill up with porn pop ups. We both knew she was lying but I am a professional. I was not even going to ask her if her name was really Svetlana. There are not many Aberdonians with such exotic sounding names and of those that exist, I am pretty sure that she was not one of them.
“He spends so much time on this bloody thing, checking football results and international politics, that I sometimes thing he should have married it.” Her laugh sounded nervous.
I smiled at her and moved the mouse to start the cleaning process. She politely asked if I wanted a cup of tea, her eyes glinting in that strange middle aged way.
So I set about dithering in ham (technical term) and realigning the TDS Flange (Old School Technical term), she busied herself in the kitchen. It was a normal day for a freelance IT fixer.
Or at least that was how it started out.
“Ooh how clumsy,” her broken glass words brought me out of the Working focus I was in. Looking up her white half cotton, half something else blouse was now soaking and see through. “I somehow managed to spill all this warm soapy water all over myself,” she added.
Gallantly I stood up and went to her assistance, much like the knights of old did. As I helped her unbutton her garment I became aware that she was not wearing any underwear, which struck me as strange as her house was not particularly warm.
At this point dear reader, I must admit that I am a man and as such, there are things that I have almost no control over.
(Although I have more control over these than most)
“So any chance of that cup of tea?” Her sighs of delight filled the room.
Later as I licked the cream off of my fingers, I felt I had to compliment Svetlana on her excellent choice of cake. Not Marksies sadly but it was tasty nonetheless. I made a mental note to check the box before I left.
Svetlana sat in front of her now working computer, her face a strange mixture of relief and confusion. I could see by the tears forming in her eyes, that I had got her out of a jam. Part of the job is what I would have told her. Had she asked.
“So that is everything working for you now. I would tell your husband that the Russians wont be attacking him again.” I started packing my bag and folded the payment she had left me, into my high quality leather wallet. As I turned to go, she spoke a phrase that would change my life forever.
“So do you fancy a shag?”
I paused and looked at my very exclusive and not cheap watch. I charged by the hour and she had at least 20 minutes of my time that she had already paid for.
That was my first mistake.