The Heart Thief.

I don't tend to remember them.
I remember her because she was beautiful.
I remember the scent of her perfume rising up into my nostrils as I slid my fingers into her handbag. It smelt like dark cinemas and parks on summer evenings. It smelt like almost-clean bed sheets; it smelt like a paper bag that once held oven-fresh bread. I froze, my fingers around the soft leather of her purse, and I nearly faltered, nearly lifted my hand away empty, an arcade claw devoid of its prize. But I have always been one to finish what I've started, so I seized the purse and slipped away, unnoticed, into the crowd.

Later I lay on my bed determining which of seven watches was the most valuable and whether I could get away with selling an iPod with "To Declan, love Mum & Dad xxx" engraved into the back. Doubtful. Then I remembered the purse; I could feel its gentle pressure, held tight against my thigh. Beige leather with a gold clasp; I opened it and there she was, her beauty framed in fuzzy passport photos on varying pieces of plastic. Identification, membership, loyalty. Her name emblazoned on everything, letters printed or embossed like elegant Braille. Photos of her family. £22.67 and a £5 Boots voucher. A Nando's card with seven stamps. Receipts and tube tickets. Remorse welled up, wet and acrid; I pushed it out with a sigh like the crashing of waves. An idea formed, little pieces of broken shell which fell together as the remorse wave eased back down the shoreline.

I sold my watches and used the money for a haircut and a new suit. I trimmed my beard, I scrubbed under my fingernails and I splashed on some aftershave, and all the while I could think only of the smell of her, the way her hair fell down her back, the way her thin bra strap had slipped down under the handles of her bag. The way I had simply reached inside and taken her treasure, soft and intimate.

Took the Circle line 4 stops and walked a few blocks. Found myself outside a magnolia coloured door with palms covered in sweat. The purse in my pocket, pressing up against my leg. I knocked brusquely. Seconds passed, my heartbeat counted them out loud. Then she opened the door to a cruel sea-fiend with the scent of his prey in his gills but all she saw was a well dressed young man, smiling nervously.

"Hello."
"Hello."

I asked if her name was her name, though of course I knew that it was.
"Yes." Uneasiness hidden by an expectant smile.
"Well," and I explained that I'd found her purse on the tube, and that the money was gone so perhaps she'd been robbed, but that it seemed like all her cards had been left alone, and I made a small joke about how thoughtful modern pickpockets were, and then explained that I saw her address and knew where it was as I used to live nearby, and thought I'd just pop round and bring it back to her.
Her face had long since lit up with one thousand suns of happiness; her beauty and her gratitude overwhelmed me. She thanked me with sincerity. God she was lovely. And the remorse washed back up the shoreline carrying foaming, shameful flotsam but there she was, this mermaid of loveliness, floating there, smiling at me from the deep.
"I don't know how I can repay you," she said. "I can't offer you a cash reward anyway!" and her laugh burbled like sun-filled rock pools, by God she was lovely.

"You could invite me in for a cup of tea, and I'll call it even." And I turned my eyes to mirrors to shoot her back her sunshine, her beauty, so she'd trust me. So she wouldn't see into my fathomless black soul.
She laughed and said, well, that sounds fair, and I followed her in, the smell of her perfume like a hook through my septum, a scent so beautiful it hurt.

The magnolia door shut behind us.
Within minutes she held my heart in her hand, like a soft leather purse.