OCA Part 4 Project 2 Ex 2

Re OCA Part 4 Project 1 - Perfect Gentleman

George:

Aged 38, brought up in a working class household on a council estate in a nicer part of

South East London. His father was a plumber, his mother worked in a local fish and
chip shop part time. After leaving school he went to work at an accountants as a clerk
and has been there ever since. Educated at a mixed sex comprehensive he was bullied
by both girls and boys, as he wore very thick lensed glasses. Had corrective laser
eye treatment 5 years ago. First girlfriend in his late 20’s, he worshipped her but
she dumped him. Lost his virginity to that girl. Finds it hard to relate to women,

doesn’t like them, thinks they’re all out for what they can get. His mother left him
and his father when he was 5, she ran off with another man. His father abused him
physically and mentally until at the age of 18 he walked out and never went back.
Socially inept, due to mistreatment in childhood, women are attracted to his good looks
and piercing blue eyes. Smokes roll ups, drinks cider and bites his nails when he’s
nervous. A loner at work, he lives on his own in a bedsit above a bookmaker's. Very
calm and calculating, almost emotionless, he trusts no one.

The smoke from his cigar curls round his fingers and swirls up to the ceiling, fogging the
room. He takes a deep drag and blows the smoke skywards, as he stands at the bottom of the blood spattered bed. The purple silk bed covering lies in folds on the floor by his feet. I can taste
the smoke and I realise just how badly I need a cigarette.
I watch, as he walks towards the bedside cabinet and taps his cigar on the crystal ashtray.
His black pinstripe suite looks expensive, handmade in Saville Row perhaps? I can tell by the soft black leather brogues on his feet that he is a very wealthy man. Just the type that come into the office with their designer brief cases, thinking they own the place. I try to keep my breathing short and shallow. Sweat is beginning to gather at the back of my neck and on my upper lip. My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to stay silent.
He reaches out and places two fingers on the ivory skin of her neck and sighs, then turns, and
looks around the room. His slicked back hair reminds me of a 1950’s gangster, and there is something familiar about his tanned face. I screw my eyes closed as he glances in my direction, as if closing them will help conceal me. My legs are aching and I’m determined not to faint. He picks up her red patent clutch bag that she had placed on the coffee table only an hour earlier and removes her mobile phone. He checks the screen and then places it back inside the bag, which he
tucks under his arm, inside his suit jacket.
Glancing around the room one more time he moves towards the door and places a gloved hand on the brass handle. He pauses. I’m willing him to leave. I’ve got to get out of here. I swear he can hear my heart beating. I cover my eyes with my hands and wait, expecting the worst, but instead I hear a soft click as the door closes behind him. I breathe deeply and lay my head back against the hard wood, the relief overwhelming me.
Tentatively, I push open the wardrobe door. My legs have gone to sleep making me struggle to
my feet. I move towards the bed and stare down at my work. Not one of my best, a bit too messy, but then, this is what happens when I have to rush. It wasn’t an ideal scenario from the beginning, but I was desperate.
I shut the wardrobe door, and grip the door handle, anxious to leave, aware that the police could be here at any moment. I leave the plush hotel room as silently as the previous visitor and make my way down the corridor towards the lifts, with a smile on my face.