‘That’s right.’ She huffs her breath against a hand held near to her mouth. ‘Ugh! Ponky! Got any mouthwash, Kai?’
‘I don’t know. Nadine might…; I’ll look in the bathroom.’
‘That bathroom! I don’t know how you can stand it, you and Nadine,’ she says, her eyes sparkling at him maliciously. He stops scratching and just stands there, looking at her.
‘This room’s still a bit ponky too,’ she says, wrinkling up her nose. ‘Smells like cat to me.’
‘There were cats in here.’
‘My God, must have been those squatters. Some people live like animals. I suppose you had to get rid of them.’
‘Yeah – most of them were only kittens, so there was no problem.’
‘Oooh, Kai! Poor little things,’ says Vicki perfunctorily, scrabbling under the pillow for a comb.
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen them. They tore my arms to bits. And they could swim too. I thought they were supposed to drown straight away.’
‘Of course they can swim! You put them in a bag of stones or something, if you want to drown them.’
‘I bought a bucket with a lid on it, and after a bit they stopped making a noise. But then I took the lid off and they were swimming round and round with just their mouths above the water. They looked like little rats. So I poured all the water out in the backyard and they lay there like those cartoons when the cat gets run over. Flat and skinny. I had to hit them on the back of the head with a stone. They were hard to kill. They wouldn’t stop jerking.’
‘You ought to take up your squash again,’ she remarks, looking at him appraisingly while she combs her hair, ‘they’ve got ever such a good new coach at the health club. Tony’s been taking lessons, did he tell you? You’ve got to keep yourself in shape for a young girl like Nadine. You won’t forget my digestives, will you, when you go round the shop?’
‘OΚ, OK.’
Kai stumps out of the room, genitals swinging. Probably off to take a bath first, Vicki thinks, that man’s mad about washing. Still, it’s nice, when you consider what some men are like. Real shockers.
Kai lifts the bathroom door to one side. He must get it fixed: perhaps this weekend, if Tony’s going to be around to help. The smell hits him. Jesus. That woman. Holding his breath, nostrils pinched and angry, he crosses the room. The toilet bowl is streaked with vomit. It hasn’t been flushed at all and a curded mass of vomit rolls and floats in the water. The seat is spattered. By the toilet there’s a stained yellow plastic bucket. He stands still and swears. It’s that old witch again. Too drunk to get upstairs, so she has to do it here. Too drunk to clean up after herself. If Nadine’d been here she’d have cleared it up. She thinks I don’t notice the way she scurries round after the old bitch. Next thing the old woman will be shitting herself and peeing herself and expecting us to clean it up. Jesus. They expect you to get rid of rats and mice but a filthy old woman is something else. She must be looked after.
‘Oh, no, Mr Toivanen, I’m afraid Miss Shelton is a protected tenant.’ Satan take her and her shit where they belong. Nadine’s not here now for her to hide behind. If Nadine wasn’t so soft I’d have got rid of her months ago. She’s nothing but an animal, bringing her filth and diseases into the house. But this time she won’t get away with it. Half past six. She’ll be up there sleeping it off. Right. She’s going to get a waking-up she won’t forget.
He can’t bring himself to pee into the filth of the toilet bowl. He’s not going to flush it either, not before he’s rubbed her face in it. He goes downstairs into the bedroom, pulls on jeans and sandals. Vicki glances at him, but his face is averted. From the look of him, there’s trouble.
‘Going down the shop now?’
‘No. The drain’s blocked, I have to fix it. Don’t go in the bathroom yet.’
Wouldn’t you know it? This house. Something ought to be done about the plumbing. She’ll take a shower when she gets back to her own place. She doesn’t trust the bath here. You never know who’s been using it – that dirty old woman upstairs, for one.
Kai goes down to the yard and pees into the main drain. It stinks too. He’ll swill Jeyes Fluid down it later. You can’t get anything clean in this house. He’s beginning to regret buying it. If he’d known about the old woman, he would never have bought it. She’s bad luck. As he zips up his jeans, he sees a piece of piping in the corner of the yard. Dull zinc grey, a yard long. Tony was using it to lever off the old taps on the bath. It ought to be put away. Kai picks it up. It might be useful for fixing the drains.
He goes up through the house with fast furious steps as far as the bathroom, turns on the cold bath-tap, then leaves it running so that Vicki will think he is clearing the drain. He climbs the last flight to Enid’s attic with quiet elastic steps. He’s never counted the steps before. There are fourteen of them, twisting to her door. Her door. Why should she live here in his house? What law allows her? Maybe she thinks he is nice, like Nadine. Maybe she thinks he’ll put up with anything. But she’s gone too far. This time he’ll show her. You try to make a place decent, you work hard, you spend money. She needs to be taught a lesson.
Kai moves lightly now, for a powerful man. His hand is delicate on the doorknob. The only doorknob in the whole house, and the old witch has it. He squeezes it as if he will make blood run from it. He turns it and it responds with a light oiled click. This is going to be easy. The door slips wide.
It’s dark in the room. She’s got the curtains drawn. There’s the bed. It smells in here too. Old stale air, nothing washed, nothing clean. How long is it since those windows have been open? And the smell of vomit is in here too, fainter but unmistakable. There she is. Drunk and snoring in the middle of her bed, with the covers pulled right over her. Like a rat in its nest. Breathing in her own stink. That’s her shape under the bedclothes, curled up. Feet, backside, shoulders. Head. All tucked down and snoring. She’ll sleep for hours yet if he let her. What a life for an old woman.
He looks away, around the fouled room. Everything cluttered, dirty, untidy. Yes, it’s like having an animal in the house. Not a human being at all. There ought to be laws to get rid of such people, not laws to protect them. Oh, she’s an old woman, is she? She’s got nowhere to go? Then she’s lived too long.
He notices that he’s brought the piping up with him. Now it’s heavy. A bit rough in his hands. Grainy. He swings it, just a little.
They’re out of milk at the Texaco garage when Enid arrives. But the milkman will be along soon, the assistant tells her, folding back the pages of his Terry Pratchett. She waits. It’s nice having shops that stay open all night long. If you go out, you know you’ll find someone to talk to, even if it’s only to ask for a box of matches or a loaf. Not that she wants to talk now. Save it for later, when Nadine wakes up. There’ll be plenty to talk about then. What a bloody mess. The assistant looks up at her. She must have said something aloud.
‘Must be a long night for you,’ she offers companionably. Look, I’m normal just like you.
‘Oh, it doesn’t bother me. I like reading, see. And now we’ve got the automatic doors you can keep trouble out when you see it coming.’
Enid nods agreement. A good citizen, she is, on the side of Texaco against trouble.
‘Here he comes. You didn’t have long to wait,’ says the assistant. He lays the book face down and goes to help pack the cartons of milk into the fridges. Enid selects two, and waits. She’s in no hurry. Something else, perhaps, to make a nice breakfast for Nadine? She looks around the racks for inspiration. American blackcurrant muffins. Sounds interesting. The assistant returns to his desk, tots up Enid’s purchases and offers a plastic bag.
‘They nice, are they?’ he asks, indicating the muffins.
‘I’ve never tried them before. It’s for a friend. A little treat. She’s staying with me.’ He nods, cautious in case she gets talking, and gives change. Enid goes out, saying goodbye separately to the assistant and to the milkkman, and trots away
across the forecourt with her shopping. It’s no distance back to the house. Just a nice walk. And the day’s perfect. New-made, grey and cool. Much better than all that sun they’ve been having lately. It’ll brighten up later, you can tell. Only a few cars about, and no one else walking. A young boy on a paper round skims by on his bicycle, hurls a paper over a hedge and skims on. Well. Enid’s surprised anyone puts up with that. Papers just dumped on the front path, even if they are wrapped in plastic. It must be some new American fashion. All Americans are mad about speed. It’s like a disease with them. A good strong cup of tea, and then the muffins. That’ll settle her stomach. Then we’ll talk.
The birds aren’t frightened this time of the morning. Sparrows pecking and fluttering nearly under my feet. Swallows’ll be going home soon. Think of them going all that way. And knowing where to go. We think we know a lot of things, but we don’t know as much as a swallow. Those swifts were making patterns round the house last night. Cutting the air with their wings. Imagine going on and on, flying, never stopping to sleep. They even mate on the wing, apparently. Oh, it’s been a beautiful summer. Never mind the flies in the ointment. And then there’s autumn to look forward to. This year I’ll try beech leaves in glycerine again. It makes a lovely decoration. Those rushes weren’t much of a success. I shan’t try that again.
Enid tiptoes up through the house. She doesn’t want to risk waking those buggers up before their time. Let sleeping dogs lie. Even when she’s past the bedroom and on to her own stairs she makes sure no one can hear a footfall. At the top the door’s open. Funny. Nadine must have woken up. She ought to’ve slept for hours yet, with those tablets. Still, perhaps it’s as well.
It’s not a sound or a movement that alerts Enid. It’s a change in the shadows: some bulk where it shouldn’t be. She stands at her threshold, slowly makes sense of the broad blocking back of Kai, bent over her bed, his hand with something in it, stirring, starting to swing.
She could get away. Back down the stairs. He hasn’t seen her.
‘Why, Caro, darling,’ comes Sukey’s voice, protesting, humorous, not yet afraid. And then the black hiss of the poker.
‘Look behind you,’ quavers Enid, singsong.
He swivels, fast as a heavy man can be fast when he wants, and sees her. What does he think he sees? The ghost of her, to judge from his colour. Better make things clear in case he goes and does something silly.
‘It’s not me in the bed,’ she whispers. ‘It’s your Nadine.’
She’s never seen a bull charge but it must be like this. He runs at her and she’s lifted with him, the butt of it thwacking out her breath. The air is tearing around her: everything’s so fast, so much stronger than her. Suddenly he’s close, his breath in her face, his eyes glaring at something she wants to say isn’t in her, isn’t here at all. But she has no breath. He’s got her, she’s in the air, lifted high by his arms so her feet dabble against the floor. For an overwhelming second she’s a child again, flooded with it, helpless. Her mouth creaks but it won’t scream or talk. She sees her doorknob whip past, her heavy door, and then he hurls and she flies but she doesn’t know where she’s going as the air hisses in the white downpour of her falling.
Before the fall there wasn’t any noise at all. Barely a scuffle. When she fell it made a sound like a broom falling down inside a cupboard. A small, dull sound. Now there’s only one person on the stairs. He looks down at the sprawled figure beneath him. It’s all wrong. The geometry of arms and legs isn’t right. That’s not how a head goes. Not even a child would draw it like that. Gently, he goes down the stairs towards it. She has fallen face down but with her chin touching the floor in a way which shouldn’t be possible. There seems to be some movement going on in her mouth still. Her eyes are open but they are not looking at him, and anyway they certainly don’t recognize anybody. A little bit more sound, a sad chuffing noise, then silence. It was air coming out of her lungs, not real breathing. Jesus. Nadine. What if she’s woken? He listens, but all he can hear is the cold water running into the bath. Vicki, stay in the bedroom. Drains are difficult things.
The piping. Where did he put it down? Cat-light, he mounts the stairs again. He’s getting sick of going up and down them. It’s surprising she wanted to stay here withall these stairs. The old woman in her big, dirty bed. The black top of Nadine’s head. What is Nadine doing here? She should be in London. Really she’s got to be more careful, she might have got hurt. No. This isn’t the time to think about it. Let her sleep. He stiffens, listens. No sound from upstairs. She hasn’t woken.
Stepping carefully over Enid, he goes down to the bathroom and turns off the tap. For a moment it feels hard to move again, but he manages it. Once he gets going, it’s easy. He goes on down to the bedroom.
‘Vick.’
‘Got it fixed, have you?’
‘Vick, there’s been an accident.’
She looks up sharply, measures his expression, gets purposefully out of bed and pulls on her neat white lycra panties and bra. ‘Chuck me over my top, Kai, would you?’ A minute later she’s dressed. ‘Right. Is this something I want to know about?’ she asks.
‘The old lady fell.’
Lady, notes Vicki. Never heard her called that before.
‘Let me have a look at her. I did do my first aid, you know.’
‘She doesn’t want any first aid, Vicki.’
She sits, straightens, stares. ‘Oh, my God,’ she says.
‘You better get right out of here.’
‘OK.’ Her fingers crisp the duvet frill, squeeze it convulsively, let go. ‘Are you sure?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. You look yourself if you want to.’
‘No, thanks.’ She shudders. ‘You’re right. I’m getting out of here.’
He stands in the doorway, big and heavy and dark. He’s in her way. Poor old Kai. Why did this have to go and happen? It’s the house. You always get trouble in a place like this. She’s never liked the atmosphere.
‘Listen,’ she says. ‘You come over to my place. You’ve got to go careful. It’s the shock.’
‘No,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘There’s things to do here. Police.’
‘You don’t want to go getting the police,’ she says automatically. ‘What’ve they got to do with it? Get the doctor.’
He thinks of the doctor. He thinks of bruises, marks. Postmortems. He sees Vicki from a long way off. He needs to be alone. He needs space to think.
‘You go,’ he says. ‘I’ll come later.’
He doesn’t need to urge Vicki. She’s already crowding her things into her overnight case, smoothing the duvet.
‘You will change the sheets, won’t you? Don’t forget, now. Or shall I do it before I go?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘You better go, before something else happens.’
She is quick and deft, at the doorway already, yellow-pale under her tan, bag in hand.
‘Phone me,’ she says. ‘Soon as you get it sorted out.’
‘Yeah,’ he says, but it’s no good. There’s no time for any of that now. She’s going. She wants out. Thank God, Vick’s the type who’ll keep her mouth shut.
The click of the front door behind Vicki releases him. Things to do. First, something to cover his hands. He’ll never cram them into Nadine’s rubber gloves. Two tea-towels will do. He wraps them round his hands, fetches the length of piping from the bathroom and replaces it carefully in the backyard. Fingerprints, A flash of heat goes through him. He washes, rubs, dries the piping, dirties it again with dirt from the green-coated brick walls, tugs forward a wreath of ivy. The piping looks as if it’s been there for ever. He looks at the digital clock in the kitchen. A new second bubbles up on its plastic display. It is 7:11 and 23 seconds. 24. 25. The sky is clearing and it’s going to be sunny again after all. Kai jerks away. The tea-towels are coming loose and they’ve got dirt on them. He binds them tighter.
The hall and stairway are filling with early sun. Later, he’ll take Nadine her coffee. No.
The gentle sun hasn’t wiped away anything. More things to do. At the bottom of the attic stairs she’ll still be there, the old woman, awkwardly folded together. A bag of dirt and blood. Face half turned from her, he feels for her and gathers the dense, heavy body. It flops, rolls out of his grasp. He fixes the tea-towels tight and spoons his arms under the body. Holding in his breath, he carries Enid through to the empty room next to the bathroom. The spare room, Nadine calls it. He lays the body on bare boards behind the door, curled as it was at the foot of the stairs, and shuts the door. He breathes out.
There’s a stain at the bottom of the stairs. He will need mop and bucket. First, he’ll have to clean the bathroom. Have it all clean before Nadine wakes up. The clotted vomit is hard to shift with cold water, but he daren’t use the geyser and wake Nadine. He fills and empties the yellow bucket, swills the sides of the lavatory, scrubs it with the brush. The smell is awful. A small sound seeps out of his mouth. He gags.
The bathroom is clean. The boards are clean. Now, the towels. He hesitates, then goes down to the kitchen again, finds a plastic rubbish bag, drops in the tea-towels and seals them with a wire tie. He carries the bag upstairs to the bedroom, where he slides a leather suitcase from under the bed and tucks the rubbish bag into its corner. He leaves the suitcase lying open on the bed.
He makes coffee, and thin white toast with Marmite for Nadine. He butters it carefully so that there will be no lumps of melting butter on the toast. She doesn’t like them. He heats her milk and pours it into a jug, puts two big cups and the toast on a tray and carries it up all the stairs, spreading the fragrance of coffee and fresh toast through the empty house. The smell of coffee often wakes Nadine. He wants her to wake up now. He wants someone to talk to.
‘Nadine. Nadine.’ He puts down the tray, pulls back Enid’s curtains, opens a dirty window. It shudders in its frame. ‘Nadine!’ He pounces at the bed, suddenly frightened. He can’t hear her breathing.
But when he tears the covers back he feels her warmth. She groans and twists away from the light. He shakes her shoulder. ‘Nadine! Nadine! Wake up!’