My heart stops for a moment. Behind the bathroom door is a very large, wide open safe in the wall and in the safe I can see thick bundles of what looks like money. I take a closer look. No question. Thick bundles of crisp fifty-pound notes, little jewellery boxes and a gold bar, all sitting on top of a Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon album in vinyl.
I turn my attention back to the bathroom door, wiping it down carefully. I take off my red and yellow fleece and take hold of the sleeves, the neck and the lower edge all in one hand to make a basic bag, and then I put all the bundles of cash, the jewellery boxes and the gold bar in. The bag is full. I step back out of the en suite and, taking care not to look at the customer who I had delivered a laptop to not half an hour ago, I walk out of the bedroom. I pad carefully down the landing and down the stairs and quickly make my way back out of the house. I put my makeshift bag down briefly, whilst I put my shoes back on, and then walk quickly and quietly down the drive. Once I’m back at the van, I call the police and tell them that I need to report a murder. The man quickly and efficiently takes down my location, then, once he has ascertained my safety, he tells me to wait where I am and that a patrol car will be with me within five minutes. I get in the back of the van, put together one of the spare heavy-duty packing boxes and place the money, jewellery and the gold bar securely inside. I write Petra’s name and our address on one of the labels and use the hand stamp to officiate the delivery. I put the box with the rest and then close the back door of the van. I climb back into the cab of the van and call up Dorian on the radio. I do not find it difficult to sound shaken up. Dorian tells me she will let Mrs Birch know and that they will get a replacement driver organised and over to me as soon as possible to finish off my deliveries. I tell her it’s OK, I’m fine, and that I can get the rest done, but she says that there is no way I should be driving after what I’ve been through – it must’ve been a hell of a shock – and that the police will probably need me to make a statement anyway, so I might be tied up for a while. I tell her I hadn’t thought of that and thank her. She asks me if I want her to stay on the line and chat with me till the police come, but I say no, I’m fine.
I’m cold and damp and the van windows are misting up, so I turn the engine on and put the blowers on. I rub my hands between my thighs.
I can only hope that the killer was professional enough to disable or check for CCTV. Her exposed face suggested this wouldn’t be an issue.
I rub my hands between my pink thighs and wait for the police as the hot blowers clear the mist from my windscreen.
Sauna Suit
Billy’s up at 5am and immediately begins his stretches and warm-up exercises. The movements are so hardwired into him that he is only conscious of the routine in its absence. Out on the street he can still hear a handful of party diehards loitering around the fire pit, clinging to whatever social embers they can find after the weekend-long party. They are the unsung champions of their class, the enduring detritus that will not go home.
Once Billy has warmed up, he takes his Swelter Sauna Suit from the wardrobe and, with a look of distaste on his face, he puts it on. The sauna suit is a black, two-piece tracksuit made of coated nylon, with rubberised seals round the neck, waist, wrists and ankles, which are designed to help retain heat and moisture within the garment, thus maximising calorie burn and weight loss during a workout. Billy does not enjoy wearing it. He grabs his keys and heads downstairs.
The multi-seed batch loaf he bought on Friday has gone, but there is a value loaf of thin-sliced white bread on Pedro’s shelf, so he takes a couple of slices and drops them in the toaster. He can hear Pedro talking in the living room, so he puts his head round the door. Pedro and Hendo are slouched on the couches in front of the television. Pedro holds a still-lit joint in his hand and is talking some sort of incomprehensible monotone gibberish, whilst Hendo is staring blankly ahead, ignoring him – his nose is swollen and bloodied and his eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed in a way that doesn’t look solely weed-induced. Suddenly Pedro’s monologue switches from Spanish to English and changes pitch with his mounting excitement:
“Hijo de puta. ’Ere ‘e comes, the fuckin’ cun’ – look a’ that big fuckin’ whale man. Look a’ him.”
On the screen, a large barnacle-encrusted whale is emerging from a green sea beneath a white roof of pack ice.
“’Ey Billy, wha’ happen to you? You look clean as a baby man. Look a’ that big fuckin’ whale.”
“Hey Peds, he’s a nice one for sure.” Billy looks seriously at the disappearing flukes. “You OK, Hendo?”
“Aye, Billy, am alright mate.”
“Looks like the match was lively.”
Hendo makes an attempt at a smile and then just says “Aye” again.
“Hey Peds, I’ve taken some of your bread.”
“Mi casa, tu casa man. Smell like you’re burning some of my bread though, brother.”
“Ah shit, we’ve got to get a new toaster.” Billy goes back into the kitchen and takes the two black slices out of the toaster and puts them in the compost bin.
“I’ll speak with Tanya. Maybe she can ask a’ the next meeting,” comes Pedro’s voice from the other room.
“Lads, I gotta bust, I’ll catch you later,” says Billy.
“Later man.”
“Seeya Billy.”
Billy has got specific measured routes depending on where he is in his training calendar, but he often finishes on Blackheath; the gradient up onto the heath is good for hill sprints and he likes to catch up with Petra, an old friend of the family, who works the early shift at the all-night burger shack.
He gets his breathing under control as he jogs the final stretch across the wet grass to the ‘Blackheath Tea Hut’. Petra is, as she always is when she doesn’t have a customer, cleaning:
“Alright darlin’?”
“Oh hey Billy. How are you, love?”
“Good. What’s new?”
“Billy, I’m in a spot – Sue’s not due in for another twenty minutes and I’ve just remembered I’ve signed up for a pottery class today and I’ve got to go home first and get the car. Would you be a darling and keep an eye on things here until Sue gets in?” Petra is making ready to leave.
“Ummm, what if someone wants something? I can’t even make toast!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Here, it’s easy.” Petra steps out of the back of the hut and walks around to where Billy is standing. She takes off her apron and pops it over Billy’s head like a noose, reaching under his arms and around his back to fasten the tie. She still has an unbelievable body for a fifty-something and her huge breasts rolling over Billy’s stomach cause an instant stir in his trousers, which he desperately hopes she won’t notice. Petra puts her arm around Billy’s shoulder and steers him around the back and into the hut.
“There’s plenty of coffee in the pot, bread here, bacon in the fridge and eggs under the microwave. It’s all anybody wants this time of day anyway. Thanks Billy, you’re a superstar.”
Petra grabs her handbag and her coat and steps out of the door, then, turning, she puts her head back in and says:
“Hey Billy, listen to me, you need to find yourself a girlfriend. You can’t go round poking old ladies with that thing, someone’s going to get the wrong impression.” She winks at him.
“Get out of here.” He flicks a tea towel at her, but the door is already closing.
“See you soon Billy, thanks.”
Billy stands in his wet, cooling sauna suit and apron, with his hands on his hips, and looks at the steadily increasing traffic outside. He turns and looks at the confusing array of utensils and appliances, the tubs and packets of uncooked things to eat, the enormous list of possible things to order on the black menu board.
“Shit,” he says.
“Morning,” says a voice from behind him that makes Billy jump. “Can I get a black coffee and a veggie burger with cheese, please?” The woman looks early thirties, slim, with a DHL uniform, com
plete with cap and ponytail.
“Oh hey, sure, yes, let me see, let me see…” Billy starts opening cupboards and looking purposefully in each for answers to questions which he is not really yet processing.
“Petra not about?” says the woman.
“You just missed her.” A veggie burger, thinks Billy to himself. Do we do veggie burgers? Is that a beef burger with onions? If a cheeseburger is a beef burger with cheese and an eggburger is a beef burger with an egg, then a veggie burger must be a beef burger with veggies. Why’s a beef burger called a hamburger? That’s irrelevant. He needs to focus. Why doesn’t a chicken burger come with a beef burger and some chicken? Why doesn’t a cheeseburger come with a chicken burger instead of a beef burger? OK, he must try to stay calm. So far he’s established that burgers do not follow any logical patterns. A burger can refer to the pattie that goes in the bun, or the combined fillings inclusive of the bun. Maybe a veggie burger is just veggies in a roll? Do the vegetables go on the griddle? Where are the vegetables? Maybe it’s a salad roll? He can see salad ingredients under the counter in ice cream tubs. He needs to buy some time – make the coffee. He takes a Styrofoam cup and pours coffee from the glass jug, adds milk and hands it to the woman.
“Here we go. How would you like that veggie burger?”
“With all the salad, onions and cheese please. And I ordered a black coffee.”
“You did? Course you did, this one’s for me,” he smiles winningly at the woman. “And yours is coming right up.” The woman is looking at him as if he has an alien hanging out of his nostril. Billy is sweating again. He gets the woman her black coffee. So the veggie burger comes with all the salad, onions and cheese, therefore the veggie burger is something in addition to those ingredients. He doesn’t think it’s a beef burger – veggie burgers are for vegetarians. Maybe it’s an egg, but an egg is not a vegetable. What about an eggplant? He looks around for an aubergine – nothing. What the fuck!
“Just need that griddle to warm up – shouldn’t take long.” The woman is busy looking at her phone and drinking her coffee. Good; at least he’s not been watched now. He looks in the fridge again – beef burgers, chicken burgers, bacon and processed cheese slices on the top shelf. OK, well that’s a start. He takes out the cheese and turns back to the salad containers. What’s the difference between salad and vegetables on your dinner table? Salad is cold, right? And vegetables are served hot. He takes a handful of iceberg lettuce and chucks it on the griddle, where it begins sizzling away, which he quickly follows with red cabbage, slices of tomato and cucumber. He takes the bun and pops it on the griddle as well to toast and then grabs an egg. He knows that the veggie burger may not be exactly what the customer wants, but if he throws in an egg it might sweeten the deal sufficiently for her to swallow it. The bun is done, he takes it and puts it on the chopping board in front of the salad tubs and puts cold iceberg lettuce, red cabbage, cucumber and tomato on the lower section.
“Any sauces, love?” Now that a decision has been made, Billy is relaxing into the mould. It may not have been the right decision, but it has now been made and Billy can focus on the action phase and implement the plan to the best of his ability.
“Chilli and garlic mayo,” says the woman. Billy turns and gives the griddling salad a quick flip over, before bringing it together again in the approximate shape of a burger. It’s browning up nicely. He cracks the egg next door on the griddle, which immediately begins to bubble and spit. He brings the sides in and seasons.
“Chilli, chilli, chilli, aha.” He draws a spiral of chilli sauce on the top bun half. There are two bottles of white sauce, both unlabelled, so he drizzles a little of each on the cold salad, assuming that some garlic will have found its way in one way or the other. He puts a slice of processed cheese on the top and the bottom halves of the bap and then, picking up the bottom half, he turns back to the griddle. He scoops up the ‘veggie burger’ and deposits it carefully on top of the cold salad, then slips his spatula under the egg and pops it on top. He turns and completes the burger with the upper bap. Smiling his biggest, shit-eating grin, he passes the woman her order between two serviettes.
“Great, thanks, oh…” The woman has passed Billy a ten-pound note and taken receipt of her order. Billy busies himself with getting her change.
“Here you go – £6.50 change.” The woman is looking at him. She is not eating her burger. She is looking at her burger with a furrowed brow, but she is not eating her burger.
“What is this?”
“Veggie burger,” says Billy enthusiastically.
“OK, look: you’ve done a good job with the bap – that’s well toasted; excellent work with the two slices of cheese – I feel like a special customer in respect to the double cheese; sauces – fine; salad – here’s where things start to go awry, you seem to have fried half of the salad; but it’s the burger that’s the main issue – it appears to be an egg.”
“Yes.”
“You’re Billy aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Petra’s told me about you.”
“She has?”
“Yes – you’re the boxer.”
“Yes.”
“OK. Listen, I don’t have mountains of time and I’m fairly ravenous, so why don’t I come round there for five minutes and knock up a veggie burger for myself? In the meantime, you come round here and eat your ‘veggie burger’ and drink your coffee. You look like you need it.”
“Might make sense…”
“It might.”
The woman walks to the back of the van and opens the door. Billy is compliantly removing the apron. He hands it over and walks out of the van. Once he’s round the front, he says:
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Annabel.” She is washing her hands in the little sink. Billy feels a hint of shame for not having done this before he started operations. She then goes to the little freezer compartment at the top of the fridge and pulls out an open box and says, “And these are veggie burgers.”
“You’re vegetarian then, Annabel?”
“Bingo.”
“Why, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Well, there’re all sorts of reasons. It’s healthy, as long as you make sure you get your full complement of vitamins. It’s better for the environment; you need a tenth of the land to fulfil a human’s nutritional needs using vegetables than if you were to use meat. But, deep down, the real reason is that I like animals.”
“I like animals too.”
“Do you? You know, I grew up in the countryside in East Anglia and I was a proper farmer’s daughter. I loved it, looking after the cattle, driving round in tractors, throwing around bales of hay. I loved the outdoors, being out in every kind of weather. You know when you wake up in the morning and you look out of your window and it makes a difference if the sun’s shining or not? I loved that, the fact that it mattered. Anyway, my father used to take me hunting and it was something I always found difficult. How is that?”
Billy is chewing a mouthful of his veggie burger.
“Unusual. The fried cucumber is particularly unusual.”
“So, there was one occasion when our dog had caught a pheasant in a hedge and as the dog came out of the hedge, I took the pheasant from it. My dad was on the other side of the hedge and he had to run down the hill to get through the gate and back up the other side to get to me and the pheasant. I can still see him now running in his wellies and his underpants – Dad was always running around with next to nothing on when the sun came out – and he was shouting “Pull its head off, pull its head off!” and I looked at the pheasant and the pheasant looked at me and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take that life, so I let him go. Well, Dad went ape shit as you can imagine, said to me, “If you can’t kill it, you shouldn’t eat it,” words he instantly regretted, knowing what I was like. I said “OK, that makes sense,” and I’ve lived by his accidental rule ever since. So, technically, I’m not vegetarian – if I kill somethi
ng, I’ll eat it, but that totals one chicken and two fish in the last forty-two years, since I made the switch.”
Forty-two years! Jesus, Billy thinks, how old is she? Must be in her fifties – she looks amazing.
“What I do find interesting,” Annabel continues, “is the number of people out there who eat meat, who are horrified at even the thought of the killing, skinning and gutting of an animal, despite the fact that these are all absolutely necessary stages in every single bit of meat’s journey to their mouths.”
Billy thinks about killing a cow. How would he do it? Shoot it? Dynamite it? Hack into it like they do in Apocalypse Now? That’s a distressing scene to watch; maybe he wouldn’t find it so easy to kill a cow either, let alone skinning and gutting the thing. Maybe he should be vegetarian? He looks at his veggie burger – maybe not.
“Anyway, I’m done.” Annabel is taking off the apron. On the counter is what appears to be a picture-perfect cheeseburger (as in one made with a hamburger/beef burger).
“That looks good,” says Billy.
“Morning, sorry I’m late,” Sue is stepping into the hut. “Oh, has Petra gone? Oh hey Annabel, oh you know I thought for a minute we were starting a burger delivery service! Ah ha ha ha. Proper fast food! Ah ha ha ha. You know, with the DHL outfit, ah ha.”
“Hi Sue,” says Annabel, handing Sue the apron.
“You covering for Petra, Annabel?” says Sue.
“Technically, I’m covering for Billy and he’s covering for Petra, but either way, we’re both glad you’re here.”
“Well, thank you both. Would you like a bacon sandwich, Billy?”
“No thanks Sue, I need to get cracking.”
“What about one for later?”
The Laundry Basket Page 21
