Up on the Roof

by A. L. Brooks

  Lena unlocked the heavy front door and pushed it open. The hallway light flicked on, triggered by the motion sensor the landlord had finally agreed to install the year before. As usual, Mr Jarvis had done so with some reluctance, never one to spend any money on the building if he could possibly avoid it. Numerous letters from Lena and Dorothy, the tenant in the ground-floor flat, had finally done the trick though. Until that point, the light source in the main hallway was a single naked bulb that could only be switched on from halfway up the staircase, a ridiculous position that caused many bumps and bruises after dark.

  She collected her mail from the neat pile it formed on the shelf beneath the window. For all her faults—and there were many, in Lena’s opinion—this little daily task that Dorothy had taken upon herself was much appreciated. Dorothy was retired and seemed to take a disproportionate amount of joy in being able to take in the mail each day and sort it on behalf of each of them.

  After tiredly plodding back up the stairs, Lena grimaced—again—when her scarred front door came into view. It had been a long week and she still hadn’t found time to phone around for some quotes. Her job had been exhausting—quarter-end for an accounting team always was, but this one had been especially trying with a new forecast due and demands for better numbers coming in two or three times a day from their head office.

  She felt grateful as she stepped into her flat and locked the door behind her. As she switched on the overhead light, she frowned; there was that little damp patch on the carpet again, on the fourth step up. Gazing upwards, Lena squinted against the brightness of the light fitting to try to see past it to the darkened skylight above. She was sure that’s where the leak was, but she’d yet to find it. While she loved the skylight, loved the patterns of light it sent dancing down her narrow stairs on a bright day, lately it was annoying her greatly by leaving this same patch after every rainstorm. Ruefully she accepted that she’d have to borrow a step ladder to have a proper look—and only one person in the building had a step ladder. Dorothy.

  She inhaled sharply. That could wait for another day. While Lena had learnt to be courageous in the past few years—coming out as lesbian in an Indian family wasn’t for the faint-hearted, after all—there were some situations she still shied away from. And dealing with Dorothy was usually on that list. No, what she needed right now was some soup to warm her up on this icy cold October night and her book to escape into.

  The mewling of the cats greeted her as she reached the top of the stairs, and her mood darkened. Irritating little beasts. Another thing she needed to deal with and hadn’t found the time to do so. Her last two text messages to Chris had gone unanswered. She frowned, staring down at their rotund faces. Their pitiful cries, pitched to tug at a heart that cared, did nothing but raise her ire once more at the fact that they were even living in her flat. She stomped over to the kitchen, slung some food in their bowls, and topped up their water, all the while swerving away from their attempts to wrap their slinky bodies around her legs.

  It wasn’t their fault, she knew that. But Chris wasn’t here and they were, so they got the brunt of her unhappiness about the situation. The black one, Midnight, glanced up at her as she side-stepped him once more, and she sighed. He really was quite beautiful. She bent down slowly and used the tip of one finger to scratch a gentle back-and-forth path in the centre of his head. His purr made her smile, in spite of herself, and when Snow, the white one, approached, clearly feeling left out of the love fest, Lena demurred and scratched her too. She indulged them—and herself—for a few minutes before rapidly straightening and heading for the bathroom to wash her hands.

  After stripping out of her suit in the bedroom, she sighed blissfully as she slipped into her baggiest, comfiest pyjama bottoms and her Hogwarts hoodie. She finished off her slouchy outfit with the big fluffy socks her sister Madhu had given her for her birthday last year, smiling as she pulled them on. Though they were a little tattered around the edges, she cherished them, not only for the comfort they gave to her tired feet, but for always making her think of Madhu whenever she wore them. After hanging up her suit, and ensuring the trousers lined up dead centre of the hanger, the crease razor-sharp, she took a puff on her inhaler and headed for the kitchen.

  With hot, spicy parsnip soup and a bread roll balanced on her tray, she snuggled down into the sofa and picked up her book with one hand, her spoon with the other. She pushed the cats away with her feet when they made their usual evening attempt to sit with her on the sofa and ignored them as they huffed off to their beds. Carefully eating mouthfuls of soup as she read, she immersed herself back into the story of Drew and Annie and their oh-so-sweet romance. She’d read this one a few times before, but when she was stressed, as she had been recently, she returned to it like a comfort blanket, guaranteed to make her feel better.

  In between chapters, she cleared her tray and quickly washed up her bowl and spoon. Dirty dishes could not be left out for even a few hours in Lena’s abode—cleanliness was everything. After wiping down the counters with antibacterial spray and dropping the remaining crumbs into the bin under the sink, she took a look around, satisfied that all was as it should be. She topped up her tea and returned to the sofa, tucking her legs up so that her feet were nestled securely under her buttocks. It was nearly nine o’clock, and she had to be in bed by ten thirty in order to get her required eight hours sleep. Contentment imbued her as she faced the remaining ninety minutes of her evening tucked up with the book. It wasn’t much, not compared to what she had this time last year with Chris, but it was enough.

  Mostly, said a quiet voice in the back of her mind.

  Megan shoved open the front door and rushed through it as quickly as she could to get in out of the cold. She slammed the door behind her and stamped her wet boots on the mat before heading to the stairs. She’d just placed her left foot on the first step when a sharp voice rang through the hallway, making her stumble and wobble between the floor behind her and the step before her.

  “Young lady!”

  Megan grabbed at the bannister to right herself, then turned, slowly, to meet the piercing gaze of a short, rotund woman whom she guessed to be somewhere in her sixties if the grey hairs that edged her temples were anything to go by. Huge round glasses dominated her black face, her eyes wide behind them, magnified by the thick lenses to comic proportions. Megan only just held back a giggle under the withering stare of those eyes.

  “Yes?” she asked, keeping her tone respectful.

  “I’ve held my tongue until today, thinking the Lord would help you to see the error of your ways in His own time. But as that clearly isn’t the case, which by-the-by has me in fear for your soul, poor child, you leave me no choice but to address the issue in my own way.”

  “I’m…sorry, what?” Megan had no idea what this woman was talking about, and anyone spouting religious talk always made her nervous. Aunty Jean had a lot to answer for.

  The woman’s arm shot out with surprising alacrity, and she pointed a finger at the front door behind Megan.

  “The slamming of the door, girl! Shaking this house, rattling my windows until I fear they’re going to fall from their frames. I’m praying to my Lord Jesus every time, praying this won’t be the day the roof comes tumbling down around my ears.” The woman was quivering, her hands now placed on her chest, held together in prayerful aspect.

  Megan swallowed. “I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t realise I was doing it.”

  The woman huffed, her frown easing a little. “Well, now you do. Let that be the end of it.” With that, she turned away and walked through what Megan assumed was the doorway to her own ground-floor flat. The door closed with a soft click, and Megan exhaled.

  The main front door opened behind her, and she turned to see Lena step through and shut it carefully. Lena started as she saw Megan halted with one foot on the first step, and she tilted her head.

  “Are you okay?” Her voi
ce was tight, her eyes narrowed; clearly the scratched-door incident had not been forgotten. Or forgiven.

  Megan shook her head, pointing at the door of the ground-floor flat. “Who…who is that?” she asked.

  The smirk that painted Lena’s face held no warmth.

  “That is Dorothy. What did you do?”

  “Um, slammed the door. One time too many, apparently.”

  Lena’s eyes rolled and she crossed her arms in front of her. “Great. Just great. Well, I hope you didn’t have any plans for some peace and quiet tonight.”

  “What?” Megan was getting more confused by the minute. What the hell was going on in this house?

  “How angry was she?” Lena walked across the hall to scoop up her mail and motioned impatiently for Megan to continue climbing the stairs, Lena following two steps behind.

  “Well, pretty angry, I guess,” Megan said, over her shoulder, looking down at Lena and trying hard not to stare at how…glorious Lena looked with an angry scowl on her face.

  “Did she quote the Lord?”

  “Yes, actually. How did you—”

  Lena’s sigh was audible. “Then there will definitely be no peace for us tonight. Thanks very much.”

  With that, she turned her key in her lock, pushed open her door, and disappeared.

  Megan stood next to the closed door and slapped her own cheek. Nope, definitely awake. What on Earth was—

  The organ music was loud. Unbelievably loud. Megan hadn’t had a religious upbringing, despite Aunty Jean’s best attempts, but even she could recognise “Onward, Christian Soldiers” when it was blasted at that volume. The glass in the window of the main hallway was vibrating softly in its frame as a result. The floor beneath her feet was trembling, giving her a realistic impression of what it would be like to stand in an earthquake zone. In a daze, she walked along the passageway to her door and unlocked it.

  The sound was even worse inside her flat; clearly her main room was above wherever the source of the music was situated. Singing was now audible too, and part of her brain had to be honest enough to register that Dorothy, if it was she who was singing, had a remarkably good voice. A loud voice, but good nonetheless.

  Shaking her head, still not quite understanding the sequence of events that had unfolded since she’d first arrived back in Jackson Road fifteen minutes previously, Megan walked through to her sparse bedroom. She’d still only got as far as purchasing a bed but had plans to meet her father with his van at IKEA on Saturday to obtain wardrobes and a few more bits for the living room. Renting an unfurnished flat had added to her list of expenses, but actually she didn’t mind—it was fun buying all of her own things and getting exactly what she wanted. And despite the less-than-stellar start with her neighbours, she liked where she was living. The high ceilings and original features of all the rooms in her flat made it seem even more spacious. As did the lack of furniture, and although she still needed some essentials, she didn’t want to overfill her new home.

  “Abide with Me” was playing when she walked back into the kitchen to start making some dinner. How long, she wondered, did the live and unwanted concert go on?

  Chapter 3

  “Forty minutes?” Megan’s mum spluttered. “That’s outrageous!” She sat down on the sofa, tutting.

  “You know what, it wasn’t that bad in the end.” Megan laughed. “I mean, I was cooking for most of that time so by the time I was ready to sit down and watch some TV, she’d finished.”

  “And does she do this every night?” Her dad was grinning.

  “Not so far. Just that one night. I think it was my punishment, or something.”

  “She’s a fucking nutter,” Jimmy said.

  “Language!” Her mother reached across the sofa to slap Jimmy’s bicep. He barely flinched—like Megan, Jimmy, her youngest brother, was a fitness instructor, and his arms bulged with muscles that were as solid as wood.

  “All done!” Callum’s voice floated out to them from the spare bedroom. He was her oldest brother, with four years separating them. Callum was a builder by trade and had insisted on being the one to put together all the flat-pack furniture from IKEA she’d bought the day before. Helping him was Daniel, two years older than Megan, and not generally known for being interested in physical labour. Callum’s bribe of twenty quid and a couple of pints later down at their local seemed to have worked wonders on his attitude.

  They appeared in the doorway to the spare room, and Callum beckoned Megan over. She leapt up from the sofa, crashed her shins against the box of books that was serving as a temporary coffee table, and groaned as three mugs of tea shot sideways and catapulted onto the floor. Callum snorted, her father following suit swiftly afterwards. Jimmy caught Megan’s eye and gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “I’ll get it,” her mum said, holding up her hands and laughing.

  “Sorry, Mum.” Megan sighed.

  Her mother laughed louder. “It’s good to see some things never change.” She walked off to the kitchen area and returned with a wet cloth, and a dustpan and brush.

  Megan’s clumsiness was the stuff of legend in the Palmer family. Some classic incidents from the past were regularly trotted out at major social events, earning Megan guffaws from anyone within earshot and endless teasing. While the retellings always amused everyone else, Megan merely smiled politely, writhing internally with embarrassment at having her infamous fault be the centre of attention.

  Once the spillage had been dealt with, and Megan had hugged her mum in thanks, the whole family followed her to inspect the results of the brothers’ labour.

  Megan beamed. It looked exactly how she’d envisioned. A foldout sofa bed was centred on the wall opposite the window, and a large desk took up the other half of the room. She’d tried to make the best use of the space possible for multiple purposes. While she didn’t want to give Jen the impression that she could move in, she did want her to stay over now and again, especially when Megan started throwing parties. Equally, she wanted a space for her desk and computer without them intruding on the main room, which she wanted to keep as her lazy lounging-around area. It was already filling up nicely with big floor cushions, the bookshelves the brothers had assembled earlier, and the big media unit on the longest wall.

  “Nice work, my brothers.” She clapped each of them on the back, laughing as Daniel winced. While she, Jimmy, and Callum were all big-boned and solid like their dad, Daniel favoured their mother and was considerably slighter. He never took well to any of their hearty greetings and gestures.

  “Right, that calls for beer,” she said, and laughed as her entire family cheered. That was the last of the construction finished—earlier that afternoon they’d all helped put together the wardrobes in her room, and arrange the table, chairs, bookcases, and media unit in the main room. Now all she had to do was unpack the rest of the boxes and she was done.

  She pulled cold lagers out of the fridge for all of them, and they swigged from the bottles, her mother included. For as long as Megan could remember, her mother had disdained washing up and was happy to cut any corners she could to avoid it. Using glasses to drink beer was a complete waste of time as far as Rosie Palmer was concerned.

  Megan smiled as she looked around at her family. Her dad was talking to Callum, the pair of them looking like peas in a pod, even down to their thinning hair. Both well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, they dominated any room they occupied. Her dad’s beer belly was expanding faster these days, and she knew her mum had been nagging him about it.

  She glanced over at her mum, who was rearranging cushions on the sofa. A foot shorter than her husband, and slim of figure, the contrast between her parents couldn’t be greater. However, her mum was no diminutive pushover, despite what people might take from their appearances—she definitely wore the trousers in that relationship, ruling her household with a sharp tongue and a vicious flic
k of a tea towel when things got out of hand.

  Jimmy and Daniel were rummaging around on the floor trying to set up the TV connections. Megan smiled. Daniel would be in his element. Anything electronic or gadgety and he was your man. He’d always been the quietest of the family, ensconcing himself in the room he’d shared with Jimmy as a kid, tinkering with who knew what on the desk that served as his electronics testing ground. She chuckled as Daniel smacked Jimmy’s meaty hands away from a couple of cables. Jimmy may have been built like the proverbial brick shithouse, but Daniel wasn’t intimidated by him. Although nearly four years younger than Daniel, Jimmy had come to the more timid Daniel’s rescue a couple of times through their school years, and while that meant Daniel had a certain kind of hero worship for his younger brother, he also wouldn’t let him get away with anything. Jimmy grinned at his older brother and swigged from his beer.

  “Hey, Lumpy!” Megan’s dad grabbed her attention with her old nickname, the name she despised but had never managed to talk her family out of using. She scowled and they all chuckled, which only irritated her more.

  “What?” She tried hard not to snap, but it was difficult.

  “How about some music?” Her dad was smiling widely.

  Mentally shrugging away her annoyance, Megan flicked the speakers on and connected her iPod, then scrolled to a mix she’d put together for a party earlier this year. While it was only her family here, and still the middle of a Sunday afternoon, she was up for adding a little party atmosphere to the day. She and her family had always been good at that, spinning any event into an excuse for a good laugh and some drinking. When she spotted Callum nodding his head to the beat, she turned up the volume slightly and smiled when he grinned at her, knowing they were on exactly the same wavelength.

  Lena slammed her book down on the sofa. She took back everything she’d said about being happy there was now someone in the flat below hers. This was the third time in the last two weeks that Megan had played her music loud enough to disturb Lena, and she’d had enough. So what if it was a Saturday night, a night when most people might anticipate a measure of frivolity? It was all about manners—or in this case, the lack of.