Up on the Roof

by A. L. Brooks

  Lena was a mystery to Megan. On the outside, she always came across as irritable and snappy. But there was something in her eyes, something that said there was a whole different person on the inside, itching to get out. That was why she’d tried to get her to join the party. She’d thought it would be good for Lena to cut loose. But she’d been shut tight again, turning Megan down with what seemed ease. Only…it had been there, again. In her eyes. A kind of haunted desire to break free.

  Megan shook her head. Not her problem. She wasn’t exactly Lena’s favourite person at the moment, after all the nightmares she’d caused her.

  So why couldn’t Megan stop thinking about that golden-brown skin and those amazing brown eyes with their luxurious lashes?

  “Argh!” Her cry was muted because her head still couldn’t take full volume, but it was loaded with the frustration she felt at the situation her own stumbles had created with Lena.

  She flopped onto the sofa and switched on the TV. The BBC News channel was on, and she’d happened across the weather forecast for the week ahead.

  “…and it’s going to be a fierce one, that much we can tell you.” The forecaster pointed at the map of Britain behind her. “We’re going to see very high winds, and lashings of rain, leading to localised flooding in many areas. There are amber warnings in place in many areas of the UK, and red alerts on most of the eastern coastline. And those of you in the cities, especially London, don’t think this one will pass you by.” The forecaster clicked her remote, and the map changed to a more detailed representation of southern England. “As you can see, London and all major towns in the south-east are directly in the path of this storm, and the Met Office are urging everyone to be prepared.”

  Megan muted the TV and gazed at her windows. She assumed they were weather-proof enough for a storm of the magnitude the forecaster had been talking about. She stood up and walked over to them. A few rattles of the old sashes, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Some things seemed awfully loose, and there was definitely a wicked draft coming from one corner where the sash didn’t quite fit as it should. She found some thick tape and patched the hole as best she could for now. When the storm was over, she’d get Callum to take a look, see what he could do.

  Lena battled her way up Jackson Road, her hair whipping in the wet wind, her face running with cold rain. She’d given up on her umbrella the minute she left the Tube station as the thing had almost got ripped from her hands. The wind was fierce, and every now and then it would shoot her sideways as she lifted a foot off the ground to take a step forwards. There had been reports on the news of trees and walls down all over London, so she had at least been prepared for this staggered method of getting home. This was the tail end of the storm that had started a little before dawn—the first blasts of wind against her windows had woken her with a start, and she’d never fully got back to sleep afterwards. In the end, she’d given up and arrived at her desk an hour earlier than normal, simply because it was easier to get on with the day than try to sleep around the noise.

  Thankful that Jackson Road was only a five-minute walk from the Tube, she grunted in relief when number seven came into view. She opened the small, black metal gate and wedged it tightly shut behind her after she’d passed through—the last thing any of them needed was that swinging and clanging in the wind all night. She walked quickly up the path and breathed for a moment in the relative shelter offered by the brick archway over the front step. Lena slotted her key into the lock, pushed open the main front door, and walked into a storm of a different kind.

  “…all afternoon! I am very tired of having this conversation with you, young lady.”

  Lena shut the front door behind her and stared at the confrontation in front of her. Dorothy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, waving a finger at Megan, who was two steps up the communal staircase and looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

  “But Dorothy, I’ve been out all day. I’ve only just got home.” Megan’s voice was strained.

  “What’s going on?” Lena asked, shaking water off her coat onto the mat below her.

  Dorothy spun round. “Banging and crashing around! This afternoon!” Her eyes were wide, her finger still pointing at Megan. “Ever since she moved in, it’s been nothing but noise, Lord help me.”

  Lena stared at Megan, who said, her voice a whisper, “I swear, I only just got home. I don’t know what she means.”

  Lena cocked her head and looked back at Dorothy. “What sort of noise was it?”

  Dorothy threw her arms up. “Banging! And crashing!”

  Lena held her hands out in a placating gesture and took a deep breath. “Okay, Dorothy. Wait…” She paused, as a sudden thought pitched into her brain. What if…what if the noise was burglars? In either Megan’s or—she gasped—her flat?

  “What?” asked Megan and Dorothy simultaneously.

  “What if…it’s burglars?” Lena managed to squeeze the words out before she clapped a hand over her mouth in fright.

  Dorothy gasped and clutched at her chest. Megan’s eyes widened, but in the next instant she stood up even taller and squared her shoulders.

  “Dorothy, please go inside your flat and be ready to call the police if I shout, okay?”

  Dorothy stared at her, but the strength of command in Megan’s voice was clearly not something even she could resist. Lena watched as, without another word, Dorothy slowly turned and walked to her own front door, hovering inside her flat, her wide eyes staring at Megan with something close to…respect.

  Lena turned to Megan. “Wh-what are you going to do?”

  Megan smiled grimly. “I’m going to find out what’s going on.” She turned away, but Lena rushed after her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back round. Absently, Lena noted how strong that arm was.

  “What?” Megan asked, frowning.

  “But…but isn’t it dangerous?” Lena’s voice wobbled as her fear at what Megan would find—and what might happen to Megan if she did find someone up there—rushed through her in a cold wave.

  Megan smiled and gently prised Lena’s hand off her forearm. “Don’t worry. I know how to look after myself.”

  Lena took in the confident woman standing in front of her and didn’t doubt it for a moment. “Okay,” she said quietly, and stepped back down to ground level.

  Megan nodded and turned back to continue walking up the stairs.

  Ignoring the small flutter of panic that was churning in her lower belly, Megan strode up the stairs, flexing her fingers into fists and out again. She was strong, and although she had learnt a few martial arts moves from various fitness instructors she’d worked with over the years, she was actually completely winging it right now. It had seemed like the right thing to do—project confidence and strength to keep both Lena and Dorothy from sliding into full-blown panic mode. But now she was nearing the top of the stairs and wishing her gut reaction had been something different.

  Like, call the bloody police and hide in Dorothy’s flat until they got here.

  However, here she was, resolutely marching up the stairs to meet who knew what fate.

  She turned the corner of the stairs, her gaze darting left to her own front door, which looked intact, then right to Lena’s, which also looked intact. She pondered that for a moment. Either the burglars, if that’s who it was, had keys and had calmly let themselves in and shut the door behind them, or they’d got in through a window. She snorted softly to herself. Yeah, right, Megs. How would they do that without a ladder?

  Relaxing slightly as her instinct told her the problem probably wasn’t burglars, she walked first to her own front door and pressed her ear against it. It wasn’t easy to focus, as the wind was still rattling the large window over the stairs in the main hallway now and then. But in between gusts, she concentrated on listening for any sound coming from within her flat.

  Nothing.


  Another minute.

  Still nothing.

  She straightened and pulled her keys from her bag. Leaning over the bannister to her left, she met Lena’s worried gaze.

  “No sound from my place and both doors are intact. I don’t think it’s burglars,” she whispered.

  “Then why are you whispering?” Lena whispered back.

  Megan blushed. “Sorry,” she said, in a normal tone. “Let me go into my flat and check around, then we’ll do yours, okay?”

  Lena nodded.

  It took less than two minutes to confirm that all was well in her own flat, with absolutely no sign of disturbance. She walked back out to the narrow hallway between hers and Lena’s flats and leaned over the bannister again.

  “Do you want to come up?” She saw Lena’s eyes widen. “Or do you want to give me your keys and I’ll do a quick check first?”

  Lena nodded furiously, even as she blushed.

  “Hey,” Megan said softly. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be afraid.”

  Lena’s blush deepened as she walked up enough of the stairs to hand Megan her keys over the bannister. She turned back away before Megan could say anything else, and she decided now was not the time to push Lena.

  She unlocked Lena’s door, wincing as her gaze automatically went to the blue coating on the bottom half of it, and pushed it open.

  The first thing she noticed was the cold. The next was the smell—damp and musty and earthy, almost smoky. Baffled, she slowly climbed the staircase, but she had only made it about four steps up when water dripping on her head made her look upwards and gasp. Where there used to be a window—she could see the frame barely hanging on from one corner—there was now a gaping hole. Underneath it, a rafter, pitted and marked with age, lay at an unnatural angle with another huge hole in the roof above where it had fallen from, through which Megan could see the stormy sky. Her gaze dropped downwards and now her brain registered the broken tiles and dusty debris scattered across the top of the winding stairs.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Poor Lena. Her stomach clenched at the thought of having to show Lena what had happened, and she wanted to put that off for as long as possible. She needed to know how bad this was before she let Lena up here. It crossed her mind that it might not be safe, so she took a moment to listen, to hear if there were any sounds of things still falling or disintegrating. All she could hear was the storm raging overhead, and the only things that fell were raindrops on her upturned face.

  Cautiously, making sure that each foot was securely placed before moving the next, she crept up the staircase. She turned the few steps at the top, which opened up her view to the main room of Lena’s flat, an open-plan living room and kitchen much like her own, only smaller. Megan stopped dead on the last step, and her heart lurched again for poor Lena.

  The flat looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. Across part of the living room another roof beam lay in pieces, and scattered over it, in a pattern that gave away where they came from, were broken, dusty, and blackened bricks.

  It could only be the chimney.

  Or, she corrected herself, part of it—there wasn’t quite enough damage for it to have been the full stack itself. Although the damage was horrendous as it was nonetheless. Above all the mess was another enormous hole in the roof, currently letting in rain all over the remains of Lena’s possessions, which must have tumbled on impact with the falling chimney. Books, for the most part, it seemed, flattened under tiles and bricks, and getting wetter by the minute; some were already pulp. The far end of the beam that had crashed through the ceiling had also smashed into Lena’s kitchen worktop, and, as Megan gingerly stepped further into the room, she could see the remains of a microwave and kettle on the floor. The sofa, which had clearly once been a sort of apricot shade, was now mostly dirty grey, and she couldn’t begin to hazard a guess at what colour the rug in front of it must have been.

  Shit.

  Almost on autopilot, she pulled her phone from her pocket.

  “Hey, sis,” Callum’s voice boomed. “What’s up?”

  “Bro, I need you. Right now.”

  Chapter 8

  What was taking so long? Lena paced the hallway in front of the main door, nibbling at her fingernails and huffing out choppy breaths. What was Megan doing up there?

  “Calm yourself, Lena.”

  Lena snapped her head up. She’d forgotten Dorothy was still there. The older woman had crept up on her with surprising stealth. She was staring at Lena, her hands clasped together in front of her rotund belly, a warm smile stretching her mouth wide.

  “She’ll tell us when she’s ready.” Dorothy reached out to pat Lena on the shoulder. “She knows what she’s doing, that one. Bless her.” She closed her eyes. “Bless her,” she repeated in a whisper.

  “I-I know.” Lena’s voice shook, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. She was…afraid. Afraid of what had happened to her flat, and—more surprisingly—afraid that something would happen to Megan. She wasn’t sure she liked Megan. The woman had, after all, made Lena’s life a misery since she moved in last month. But that didn’t mean Lena wanted any harm to come to her. That’s all it was. Simply natural concern from one human being to another. She twitched at the thought. It wasn’t that, not precisely.

  Dorothy’s hand on Lena’s shoulder squeezed, bringing Lena’s attention back to what she realised was a warm and friendly face, still split by a wide smile. “Have faith, Lena,” Dorothy said. “He will protect Megan, and all of us.”

  Lena wasn’t so sure about that, but she let it slide. Dorothy had never particularly preached to Lena since they’d become neighbours, and she was grateful for that. She could let Dorothy have these occasional moments.

  The sound of Megan walking across the landing above them pulled Lena’s attention back to the staircase, and she gazed up it as Megan rounded the turn at the top.

  Lena didn’t know what Megan did for a living, but she hoped it wasn’t anything where she had to give bad news out often, because she completely lacked a poker face. That something dreadful had happened was written all over her features, and Lena’s hands flew to her own face before Megan even said a word.

  “What is it?” Dorothy asked what Lena couldn’t.

  “Lena, I’m so sorry,” Megan began, slowly descending the stairs. “It’s…it’s the storm. It’s…the chimney’s come down.”

  Dorothy gasped and clutched at Lena’s shoulder again. “Be strong, child,” she murmured. “He works in mysterious ways. There is always a reason.”

  Lena barely heard her above the rushing sound in her ears. The chimney? What did Megan mean exactly?

  “Wh-what?” It was the only word Lena could manage; her brain was spinning at a hundred miles an hour, and no single thought could sit still long enough for her to focus on it.

  Megan had reached ground level, and she shuffled on the spot although her gaze never left Lena’s face. “Part of the chimney stack has come down…into your living room.”

  Lena gasped and swayed. Only Dorothy’s hand on her shoulder kept her upright.

  “It’s brought down two rafters, and some kind of window that was in your roof.”

  “Skylight,” Lena murmured, wondering why she felt the need to grammatically correct Megan at this exact moment.

  “Right. Skylight.” Megan rubbed at her chin with one hand. “Well, it’s…shit—” Dorothy tutted and Megan winced “—it’s a bit of a mess up there.”

  Lena wondered why the hallway had suddenly gone all blurry. Was she back out in the rain?

  “Oh, child, don’t cry.” Dorothy’s voice seemed to come from far away; Lena could barely hear it. Cry? What did Dorothy mean? Then she felt the dampness on her cheeks, and on her chin, and the sob that escaped her throat sounded awfully loud. The next thing she knew she was pulled into an extremely soft and expansive boso
m and rocked gently, while her sobs got louder and more painful, but there was no way she could stop them.

  “The tarps will keep the worst out, for sure, and the boys have done a good job of pinning it all down.” Callum was wiping at his face with a tea towel while Megan made him a cup of tea. “But it needs to get looked at soon. I’m not a surveyor, but even I can see that chimney stack’s been disintegrating for years. It needs stabilising and rebuilding, and the whole roof needs to be replaced coz it’s probably been weakened in so many places over the years, thanks to the chimney. You got a landlord, right?”

  Megan nodded, handing him the tea.

  “Thanks, sis.” He took a sip and sighed appreciatively. “Well, then she needs to get him on the case, pronto. Like I said, it seems okay up there for now, but you never know. And if we get another storm…” He met Megan’s concerned stare and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a mess all right.”

  Megan sighed and rubbed her hands over her face, her tiredness threatening to swamp her. It was gone eleven. Callum and his boys had been amazing, dropping everything they had planned for the evening and arriving in a sequence of cars and vans that had made it look like a raid was taking place when they’d all screeched to a halt outside the building. They’d leapt into action the minute she let them in, hauling huge sheets of tarpaulin and ladders up into Lena’s flat, propping up the downed rafters or putting supports in place where chunks were missing, and generally being extraordinarily efficient and chirpy. In turn, she’d ordered in a stack of pizzas and made endless cups of tea to keep them happy.

  Now it was just Callum left, and she couldn’t begin to express her gratitude to her brother. His behaviour wasn’t surprising though—if there was one thing their parents had instilled in them from a very early age, it was the need to be there for each other, no matter what.