by David Chesters

The 'total energy charge' reads '£129.7'; that's 1546 kilowatt hours at 5.010p and 485 kilowatt hours at 8.730p. VAT at 5% adds another £6.49 giving a total of £136.28. Last quarter the charge was £121.78 and the one before that £105.63. He stares at the bill. Over an hour later it continues to demand £136.28.

The problem must be addressed; with no job such bills cannot be paid. It's Stanley. Stanley spends hours trawling the Internet, hours watching videos and daytime TV shows. Stanley sits and consumes units of electricity, spends thousands of kilowatt hours staring at disgusting filth; downloading images of bad people, bad people and children, bad people and animals. But Stanley is always there to help him, to talk to him, to deal with life's difficulties. Stanley is his friend.

He takes the duster and considers the Stanley situation. Crumbs on the coffee table, a hair on the sofa, dropped since yesterday's cleaning session. On his knees he scours the carpet, picking up three tiny pieces of stone. How did they get in? There was a strict rule, shoes must be removed at the door. They come from the street, the street outside. He is angry. The street is the place of dirt and filth, of urine and dog shit, of vomit and spattered booze. Staring at the offending pieces of gravel in his gloved hand he crosses to the window and drops them to the pavement below. Where had Stanley left his shoes last night? He can't remember him returning to their loft apartment. You never know with Stanley. In so many ways Stanley is his own man, coming and going as he pleases. Unpredictable.

He hates to think badly of Stanley because Stanley can be such a good friend, can deal with all those wicked, wicked people. When that hateful woman laughed at him, mocked him, Stanley was there. Always in control, he did what was necessary. Stanley dealt with the situation calmly and efficiently. And afterwards, as they worked together washing down the walls, stripping off the soiled bed linen, straightening the coat-hangars, Stanley spoke to him, reassured him. It was Stanley's soothing voice which convinced him their actions had been justified. Not only justified but pre-ordained. Then there was the woman in the office, just before he lost his job. How he begged Stanley's forgiveness. At first he hid what he had done but his guilt became too heavy. 'Stanley, I almost betrayed you,' he said. 'I was going to tell the police about you. Tell them you had been to her flat. Please, please forgive me Stanley. They came to the office and kept asking us questions. And you weren't there Stanley, you weren't there.' He lay prostrate at Stanley's feet, sobbing and pleading. He thrashed his naked back with the leather strap and went without food for days.

Stanley did forgive him. Stanley is a strong man, a dependable man. When the tremors come and he needs someone to tell him to hold on, to be brave, Stanley responds. Stanley is there. When neighbours poison his water and tap his telephone Stanley tells him what to do, gives him good advice. He loves Stanley. He will find life without him very difficult.

But Stanley is getting out of control. More and more he is going out alone; staying out very late. Borrowing his hammer and saw without first asking permission. Of course he wouldn't refuse, but why doesn't Stanley just ask? And Stanley returns the tools to the cupboard without first wiping them clean. Because of Stanley's thoughtlessness he has to spend hours cleaning, oiling, polishing to return the implements to their pristine state. It's the same with Stanley's clothes and general standards of cleanliness. Those stones on the carpet are just one example. This morning he woke to find dirty jeans, T-shirt and sweater on the kitchen floor. He poured powdered bleach into the appropriate compartment and set the machine on 'Intensive/Stains'. The overall washing time was extended by twenty minutes. When Stanley appeared they showered; the water was hot and carried the night's fluids down the waste-pipe. They scrubbed hard, a pink blur in the steamed up mirror. He stood in the moist air and tried to forgive the cleansed Stanley.

Many times he has attempted to absolve Stanley. He knows he will miss him. Stanley would be able to silence the crashing music coming from the gas fire and to stop the woman in flat 6 stealing his pencils. But the filthy tools, the stained clothes, the stones on the carpet, and now this electricity bill mean he has no choice.

He continues cleaning the flat. Spraying the bath and surrounding tiles, the shower area and the washbasin and taps. Ensuring the surfaces are thoroughly covered before wiping with a damp cloth. Applying a different bottle of spray to the mirror and windows he repeats the process then dries off the sparkling glass. In the bedroom he vacuums, dusts and polishes away a day old layer of dirt. Before moving on he fluffs up the pillows and makes sure the sheets are smoothed and tightly tucked in. The kitchen requires a special effort, his morning coffee having left a slight ring on the work surface.

He changes into a clean shirt and pair of pants and steals himself to confront Stanley. How best to handle the situation? He must be honest and direct. Stanley knows him so well he will see through any lies. Usually Stanley is the one who does the talking. Stanley speaks while he listens. But now he finds that he is the one gently encouraging and reasoning. As he unfolds the neatly pressed bed sheet he tells Stanley that this is the only way. 'You know I love you. You are like a brother to me Stanley. But there must be rules you see. We must be vigilant or we will descend into chaos.' Cutting the sheets into parallel strips he rejects one piece which is too wide and takes it to the waste basket in the corner of the room. He ties the others together, pulling the knots tight to ensure they are secure. 'We'll tie this on the beam Stanley. It's nice and strong. Don't worry it will be over soon.' He tugs on the dangling material. 'We can still be friends. It's just not working. Spending our lives so close together.'

The knotted sheets are ready but, as he is stepping onto the chair, he notices a splinter of wood which has fallen from the beam. He leaves off his preparations and goes to the kitchen for a dustpan and brush.

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