Ros Reines: 'A tradesman did the unthinkable in my bathroom'

It was just an average Saturday morning. I was mooching around and doing chores, never expecting that by lunchtime, my heart would be pounding, the sweat would be pooling on my skin and I would have armed myself with the nearest ‘weapon’ to hand — a corkscrew.

All this over something as benign as an installer arriving to put up my new TV.

It hadn’t felt quite right. Even before he’d crossed my threshold, there was something slightly off about him, which wasn’t helped when he immediately complemented me on my appearance.

"You look really good," he said, appraising my sleep-creased face. I looked like s---, plus I’m fairly ancient.

"Thanks," I replied tightly. (I thought he was just trying to sweet-talk me into paying an inflated bill.)

I've never felt threatened before. Well, OK, there was that one time in my early 30s  when two young men followed me home from the shops. 

I was living in an old apartment block at the time without a secure entrance, but at least my front door had a peep hole. So, when they knocked, I caught a glimpse of them trying to jump back out of sight like Huntsmen spiders. 

My heart had been pounding then too, but I’d established a beachhead on a nearby sofa within arm’s length of the phone and waited it out while they kept knocking. 

Later, I became aware of their loud theatrical footsteps as they pretended to go away before they eventually started to pound on the door again. But I said nothing, I did not wish to begin any sort of dialogue with them, I would not budge. 

I ventured out several hours later, charging down the stairs to the relative safety of the street with the resolve to spin around to ensure I was not being followed. Maybe I looked as though I’d stepped out of a spy spoof, but it gave me peace of mind.

Oh, wait — and a few years ago when my son was out, I found a stranger standing in the middle of the living room.

This had incensed me and I had yelled at him so loudly neighbours came running from all directions. The would-be thief immediately took off, hurtling over the back fence like an Olympic athlete as I chased him to see whether he was clutching any of my possessions. 

Now as an empty-nester, I thought I was over being targeted by men, but just in case, I have an excellent video intercom and there’s 24-hour security. 

I’d been given the installer’s details from the store where I’d purchased my TV. The salesman explained the man was new to working with them, but competitively priced. I thought I’d give him a go.

Usually when a workman visits I busy myself with other chores, but the installer had brought along his two sons — one older to help him, and the other quite young with big saucer eyes.

I fussed over the little one, offering him drinks and snacks then sat down and chatted to him as his dad worked.

'Here it comes,' I thought, 'he’s going to haggle with me over the bill.'

No problems there, but he did ask to use the bathroom. A few minutes later I heard the  toilet being flushed and was waiting for him to walk back in, but nothing happened. As the minutes ticked by I started to wonder what he was doing in there for so long.

After five minutes, my stomach lurched. Was he preparing himself to attack me while I was still passively sitting on the sofa, waiting?

That’s when I jumped up and grabbed the nearest weapon, the corkscrew, concealing it in the now sweaty palm of my hand. Then, opening the front door, I stood half out in the hallway.

When he finally did come out he was taken aback to see me standing there so defensively. However, he made a big show of putting his card on the fridge so I’d know where to reach him.

It was only later when I went into the bathroom that I saw it: a damp, sticky washer resting right in the middle of the vanity, unmissable. 

He had been relieving himself and that washer was another of his calling cards. It went down the garbage chute moments afterwards.

The entire episode serves as a reminder that women alone are always vulnerable no matter how old they are. And also, that you should always trust your instincts — If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.