by Mark Morris
For a few seconds the person stared at me without any real expression. If they were scared or suspicious or even just pissed off at me for interrupting what looked on the surface to be a pretty miserable existence, then they didn’t show it.
I thought I was going to have to repeat what I’d said, but then the person asked, ‘What help?’
Female, I thought as soon as she spoke, and suddenly it was as though my perception had shifted and I wondered how I could ever have been unsure. Of course it was a girl. The soft line of the jaw, the delicacy of the features – it was obvious.
Despite the panicky fluttering in my belly, I forced myself to keep the smile on my face.
‘My name’s Ruth,’ I said. ‘My brother, Alex, lives upstairs.’
‘You already said that,’ said the girl.
Taken aback by her bluntness, I started to stumble over my words. ‘Did I? Oh yes, well, I was just putting things in … well, it’s just that … well, I’m worried about him.’
I expected her to say Why? or Are you?, but she didn’t, she just looked at me. I stumbled on, feeling intimidated by her silence, and annoyed by it, and anxious for Alex, all at the same time.
‘I’m worried that he might be ill, in his flat.’ I almost told her about the fiddleback, then decided not to; I didn’t want to get Alex into trouble. ‘So ill that he can’t get to the phone or the door. And I was wondering … I don’t suppose you have a spare key?’
‘No,’ she said, looking at me as if I were mad, or accusing her of something.
‘The landlord’s number, then? Do you have a number for your landlord? He can let me in.’
The girl now looked as if I were trying to trap her. ‘He won’t like you ringing him.’
‘Well, if I don’t ring him, I’ll ring the police,’ I said, feeling suddenly angry. ‘I’m not just leaving this.’
The animation that had briefly flickered across the girl’s face now disappeared again and she gave me another of her deadpan stares. Then she said, ‘Hang on,’ and her face sank back into the darkness as the door closed.
A minute later it opened again, and she thrust a strip of paper that looked as if it had been torn from the corner of an old yellowing newspaper at me. ‘Don’t tell him it was me,’ she said, then retreated once more, shutting the door.
Clutching the paper, I went downstairs, my head darting this way and that as I looked for the fiddleback. The front door of the house was on a heavy spring, which meant I couldn’t get out to my car to get my mobile without it clicking shut behind me. Not trusting the girl in flat three to let me in again, I propped the door open with my left boot and hopped out to my car.
When I got back, I put my boot back on and laced it up, then dialled the number I’d been given. It was only when a brusque voice said, ‘Cressley,’ that I realized I didn’t know the landlord’s name.
‘Oh hello,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to get in touch with the landlord of five Moxon Street.’
‘Yeah, that’s me.’
‘Hi, my name’s Ruth Gemmill. My brother’s a tenant of yours. Alex Gemmill. He lives in flat six.’
‘What of it?’
Cressley’s manner was snappy, impatient. He made me feel I’d interrupted something very important that he wanted to get back to. I took a deep breath, refusing to be rushed. ‘Well, it’s just that I’m worried about him. I think he might be ill.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’ said Cressley.
‘Well, nothing, except that … I’m worried he might be so ill that he can’t get to the phone or the door. I was wondering whether you could possibly come over and let me in?’
Cressley gave a snort of contempt and said, ‘Look, love, I’ve got a business to run here. If I was expected to show up every time some tenant of mine had a personal crisis, I’d be chasing my bloody arse around all day.’
I felt my throat tightening. I hated this kind of confrontation, but at the same time, for Alex’s sake, I wasn’t going to give this one up.
‘It’s not a personal crisis, Mr Cressley,’ I said. ‘I really think my brother might be ill. I’m extremely worried about him.’
‘And what makes you think he’s ill?’ Cressley asked condescendingly.
‘He’s not answering his phone. He’s not been in touch for days. It’s not like him.’
‘Did it ever occur to you that he might have gone on holiday?’
‘Of course it did, but he’d still have got in touch.’
‘Maybe he wanted a break.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Mr Cressley. If my brother had gone away he would have let me know. We’re very close.’
‘No, love, it’s you who’s not listening. Maybe he wanted a break from you.’
‘What?’
I was flabbergasted by his rudeness. Cressley gave a snort of what sounded like satisfaction. I imagined him to be the kind of man who enjoyed getting a reaction out of people.
‘Now don’t take this badly, love,’ he said, ‘but you come across as the clingy type to me. I think if you were my sister I’d want a break from you now and again.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. For a moment my throat was so tight that I couldn’t speak. I could feel my anger boiling up in my head. Then the pressure of it made the lump in my throat burst out like a cork from a bottle, and I managed to make ‘How dare you!’ sound like the snarl it was intended to be.
Cressley laughed. ‘Whoops,’ he said. ‘Have I gone a bit far? I only speak as I find, love.’
‘You … you …’ For a moment I had so much going through my head I wasn’t sure what was going to come out. Then it all emerged in a flood. ‘You don’t know anything about me! How dare you make assumptions about the relationship between my brother and me! I am not just the silly, fussy woman you obviously think I am. I have a genuine cause for concern here. Now are you going to come over with a key or do I have to call the police?’
There was silence for a moment, then Cressley sighed and said, ‘Keep your knickers on, love.’
‘Don’t be so bloody rude!’ I hurled back at him.
He was silent again, and I wondered whether I’d managed to stun him with the force of my anger. Encouraged by this I said, ‘Well, what is it to be? Shall I call the police?’
I heard him groan with either exasperation or defeat, or maybe a bit of both. ‘I’ll send someone round,’ he said, ‘if only to shut you up.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, not entirely sure whether he’d meant that as a threat, ‘I’ll expect someone shortly.’ But he had already put the phone down.
I sat on the front step of the house, trying to look cool and businesslike in case Cressley suddenly showed up – after all, I had no idea how far he had to come. I was quite pleased with how I’d handled myself on the phone, though now my hands were shaking with a delayed nervous reaction. I was aware that my cheeks were burning too, and tried to think calm thoughts; the last thing I wanted was to appear flustered when Cressley arrived.
I’d been sitting there about ten minutes when a highly polished maroon Espace with a personalized number plate – MC 15 – drove up. It was the sort of vehicle you saw a lot in the exclusive little village just outside Newark which my parents had retired to three years ago. Slim, smart, sophisticated-looking mums with corn-coloured hair, pearls and gigantic wedding rings used them to take their children to their private schools before heading off to the gym or the riding stables, or to have lunch with the girls.
It was pretty obvious that whoever was driving this particular vehicle wasn’t in that league, though. The Espace didn’t cruise to a sedate stop behind my car, but roared right up to the rear bumper as if to ram it. I wondered whether the driver thought I was sitting in my car before the Espace came to a lurching stop, the handbrake ratcheting so harshly that it sounded like it was being yanked off.
I stood up, feeling a need to draw myself to my full height as the door opened and the driver got out. It was a man in his early tw
enties, red-faced from the sun, his mousey hair short and bristly. He had no neck, big powerful shoulders, large stubby hands and a beer gut. He was wearing a yellow and black hooped rugby shirt, faded jeans and Adidas trainers. He looked at me with an expression of hostile indifference, then turned to lock the door of the Espace before lumbering up to me. He looked down at my chest before turning his eyes to my face.
‘Nice car,’ I said.
‘It’s me mum’s,’ he replied as though I was being dim. ‘Are you the woman what rung me dad?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, deciding to drop any attempt at nicety. ‘I’m worried about my brother.’
‘I know. He told me.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a big bunch of keys. ‘Come on, then.’
He pushed past me, smelling hotly of sweat, and I followed him into the house. As he clumped upstairs I wondered whether I ought to warn him about the fiddleback, but again I kept my mouth shut to protect Alex. If my brother had brought the spider – and who knew what else? – into the house without Cressley’s permission, then he would most likely get into trouble for it. I wasn’t so worried about the police being involved – I’m sure Alex had all the right licences and stuff – I was more concerned about what Cressley and his thuggish son might do. I could easily imagine them stomping Alex’s collection to a pulp, quite literally throwing him and his stuff out on to the street.
‘Who gave you my dad’s number?’ Cressley’s son asked suddenly.
We were on the landing outside doors three and four, and I tried not to give anything away. ‘Why does it matter?’ I said.
He nodded at the door to flat three, and without bothering to keep his voice down, said, ‘I bet it was that silly cow, wasn’t it? Always sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted.’
I flushed angrily. ‘Nobody stuck their nose in anywhere.’
He gave me an unpleasant smile. ‘Good job, then, isn’t it? ’Cos people who stick their noses in more often than not get ’em chopped off.’
I wanted to tell him not to be so pathetic, to stop trying to sound like some crap TV gangster, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. The thing was, I was wary of this man, as I’m sorry to say I’m wary of a lot of men now. Oh, I know he was stupid and transparent, and I know he wielded his aggression openly (unlike Matt, who had kept his tucked away out of sight until the time came for him to give terrifying vent to it), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still dangerous. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was being obstructive – just unpleasant – and uncomfortable as I felt, I could live with that. If it meant getting peace of mind about Alex, then what did a few hostile stares and moronic half-threats matter?
So I shrugged, let it ride, and we carried on to the top floor, me scanning the stairs for the fiddleback. He kept twirling the big bunch of keys around his finger, jangling them, and outside the door to my brother’s flat he stopped, found the one he wanted and stuck it in the lock. As he twisted the key I stepped forward to follow him in, but he turned before pushing the door open.
‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
I was taken aback. ‘Nothing. I mean … just waiting for you to unlock the door so we can go in.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll go in. You wait here.’
‘But I want to see if my brother’s OK.’
‘Are you deaf or just daft? I’ll go and see, you wait outside.’
‘Why? What are you hiding?’
‘I’m hiding nowt, love. But this is private property. We can’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry look round us tenants’ flats.’
‘But I’m Alex’s sister.’
‘So you say.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Why does everything have to mean something? All I’m saying, love, is that I don’t know you from Adam. You say you’re this bloke’s sister, but how do I know you’re not working with some gang, looking round places to see what folk have got before ripping ’em off?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said.
‘Maybe it is. But you can’t be too careful, can you?’
‘I can show you something with my name on it,’ I said. ‘My driving licence. It’s in the car.’
‘I’m not interested in all that. I haven’t got time to piss about. I’ll just go in, have a quick look, and come out and tell you what’s what. Then we’ll both be happy.’
‘But I want to see for myself,’ I said.
‘Why? Do you think we’re keeping him prisoner here or something?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Well, then.’
It’s just that … I know him better than you. I might see something you’d miss.’
‘If he’s in here, love, I think I’ll see him easy enough.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant—’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m not standing here arguing the toss with you all day. I’ve got stuff to do. Now either I go in and have a look or we just leave it and I fuck off home, all right?’
I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t see that I had much alternative. I nodded. ‘All right.’
‘Right, then.’ He opened the door and went inside. Before shutting it behind him I caught a glimpse of a narrow hallway and the edge of a bookcase that was lining one wall of it, making it even narrower. That was all.
Less than a minute later he was back, his face expressionless.
‘Well?’ I said.
‘There’s no one in there.’
‘And how does everything look?’ I asked him.
‘Fine. Bed’s made. Everything just looks normal.’
I thought of the fiddleback. ‘There’s nothing … broken or overturned?’
‘Not that I could see.’
I was itching to ask about Alex’s collection, but again – not wishing to get him into trouble – I kept my mouth shut. Instead I asked, ‘And there wasn’t a note?’
‘Not that I could see,’ Cressley junior repeated.
‘Maybe you missed it.’
He sighed. I could see I was really beginning to get on his nerves. ‘Why would he leave a note in his own flat? There’s only him what’s got a key to it.’
‘And you,’ I said.
‘He’s not going to leave me a bloody note, is he? I don’t give a toss where he’s gone.’
I clenched my teeth, then said, ‘I thought he might have left his rent or something.’
‘Yeah, well, he didn’t. Rent’s not due for another week. And before you say anything else, I’m not answering any more questions. I’m off home before I get old and die.’
He pocketed the keys and stumped away. I left it a minute so I wouldn’t have to speak to him again, then followed. I was frustrated that I hadn’t got to see Alex’s flat, but I thought Cressley junior was probably telling me the truth when he said Alex wasn’t there. Maybe my brother was at school, after all. Maybe he had just been busy and hadn’t had a chance to return my calls. If that was the case I should be happy that he was finding so much to do here, that he was building a new life for himself. I should be, but I found it hard not to be a bit resentful. What did that say about me? Was I selfish? Was I as clingy and possessive as Cressley had accused me of being? I didn’t think so, but then I suppose people are never aware of their own faults, are they? If they were, they’d put them right. I’d always looked out for Alex, but then he’d always looked out for me as well. So it wasn’t all one-way traffic on my part; he rang me as often as I rang him. Did that make both of us possessive? We just needed each other, I suppose; we each felt stronger when the other one was about. We were damaged goods. We bruised easily. Or at least I did after all the horrible stuff with Matt. It used to be that Alex was the vulnerable one, but he’d got over all that now; he was happy with his sexuality. I’d been there for him, he’d been there for me. He was the one constant in my life.
I walked outside and raised my face to the sunshine. For a few seconds I bathed in its warmth. It calmed me, soothed me. I
thought about what to do next. It looked like I’d be staying in Greenwell, at least overnight. I’d already told Alex in my note I was going to stay at the Solomon Wedge pub. If he didn’t get in touch with me there, I’d try to find out which school he was likely to be teaching at and make my way there tomorrow morning. And if I still had no luck, then what? Back to his flat, I suppose, with a crowbar if needs be.
Galvanized by my plans, I got into my car and drove back to the centre of town. There was a stone archway beside the Solomon Wedge, with a sign above it which read CAR PARK FOR RESIDENTS ONLY). I drove my car through the arch and found a space, which wasn’t difficult because there were only four other cars there. One was a spotless, electric-blue Porsche, which looked as out of place in these surroundings as a brilliant ray of sunshine on a stormy day. I got out of my car with the Puma sports bag I’d packed the night before, locked it, walked round to the front of the pub and went inside.
I expected the interior of the pub to match the drabness of the rest of the town, so was pleasantly surprised to find it was actually quite nice in a chintzy, Laura Ashley kind of way. I also half-expected the place to be full of locals, who would fall silent and turn hostile faces towards me the instant I walked in, like in that film, An American Werewolf in London. However, there were only three or four men sitting or standing around, and no one paid me much attention beyond the usual appraising glance.
I walked up to the bar and put my bag on the floor by my feet. The landlord was at the other end, sharing a joke with a skinny, scruffy man with a grizzled beard. From the landlord’s appearance I guessed that he owned the Porsche parked round the back. His whole look shouted money, but in a vulgar, ostentatious way. Chunky gold bracelets jangled on his wrists, and the gold rings he wore on each of his fingers were so big and thick they looked more like knuckle-dusters than jewellery. His burgundy silk shirt, shimmering like dolphin-skin where it stretched tight over his beer belly, might have made him look camp if it wasn’t for his heavy build and pug-nosed face, which gave him the air of an ex-boxer.
I wondered where his money had come from. Business could hardly have been booming in a town like this. Maybe he was an ex-boxer, who’d retired on the proceeds of a sparkling career to run a pub in his old home town. Or maybe he was a local gangster and the pub was a front, the legal, modest face of a far more lucrative criminal organization. Then again, I thought, smiling to myself, maybe his lottery numbers had come up and he liked people to know about it.
