Asking For Trouble (29 page)

‘You don’t know it,’ she said coldly. ‘I’ll decide what’s to be done about Mr James Monkton and, indeed, this other man, Lundy.’ She turned her steely gaze on me. ‘As for you, Francesca. Please go back to your flat and stay there. I want to be able to find you when I need you, OK?’

‘OK!’ I said meekly.

I took the bus home, as I laughingly thought of the place. It didn’t appear any more welcoming than when I’d left it. Some new and more imaginative graffiti decorated the walls and a few more windows were boarded up. The lift was still broken and the electric light on the staircase was out. Perhaps there had been a general power failure.

It was getting dark by now and I’d have appreciated the electricity. Meagre light through broken windowpanes at each landing illuminated the lower three or four flights. The rest ran on into the gloom. The middle section had to be negotiated in the dark, until the light from the next landing cast grey comfort on my faltering footsteps. A chill wind was funnelled up the stairwell. I made as fast a progress as I could, promising myself a cup of tea when I got to the flat.

It wasn’t possible to hurry too much. It was quite likely that someone had left an object on the staircase to trip up climbers. The kids here liked doing that sort of thing. So I made my way carefully up, keeping one hand on the greasy walls. Disgusting though it all was, each gloomy cold tread took me nearer my goal. Then, as I turned to face the last flight and began to climb up, out of the lighted lower portion into the murk, I became aware that I wasn’t alone. Above me in the darkness, another human being was waiting in silence.

I stopped. I couldn’t see a thing but I could hear the soft in- and out-take of breath. I was, presumably, about to be mugged.

I called up, ‘I haven’t got any money. If I had any, I wouldn’t be living here!’

He moved. He was, possibly, just a jolly local rapist.

Or he was, and I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of this at first, the person who had killed Terry, come to kill me.

Panic seized me. I whirled round and ran, heedless of breaking my neck as I plunged down the way I’d come up. Somehow, in my panic and my headlong flight, I became aware that someone called my name. It came from above, echoing down the stairwell.

‘Fran! Wait! It’s only me! It’s Ganesh!’

I leaned panting against the wall, my heart leaping about in my chest like a yoyo. What on earth was he playing at? I crawled back up the stairs and found him at the top, on my landing. Or at least, a shadowy outline which turned out to be him. I did not feel kindly towards him.

‘Are you mad?’ I raged. ‘I nearly had a heart-attack! I didn’t know who was up there! The lights are out. Anyway, I thought you’d gone home.’

‘I did but they all started on at me. I walked out. Besides, I was wondering about you. How did you get on?’

‘Could have been worse. Let’s go in and have a cup of tea. I’ll tell you about it when we get into the flat.’

He moved to intercept me as I started off down the dark corridor towards my front door.

‘You can’t, Fran. You can’t go to the flat.’

‘Why ever not?’ I’d had enough and the only thing I wanted was to get into my own place. ‘Don’t fool around out here, Gan. I’m desperate for a cuppa.’ I gave him a shove, but he stood firm and gripped my arm.

‘I’ve already been along there, Fran. While you’ve been away someone’s broken in—’

I jerked my arm free and ran past him along the landing, fumbling for my key, although I no longer needed it.

My visitors had smashed in the front door completely so that it didn’t lock any more. Even if it had locked, there was a hole in the middle of it.

I gave it a push. It swung inward. I put my hand round and fumbled for the light. It ought to be on a different circuit to the public staircase. It was. It came on, the yellow beam flooding out through the wrecked door and bathing Ganesh and me in its glare.

Ganesh took hold of my shoulders. ‘Fran, don’t go in. You don’t want to go in there.’ He sounded sympathetic but I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted to know what had been going on.

‘Yes, I do!’ I said tightly. ‘It’s not much, but it’s the only home I’ve got!’

‘Fran—!’ He tried to hold me back. I shrugged him off. He let me go.

It didn’t take long to see what had happened in my absence. The block’s kids, a small army of competent vandals, had broken in and had a field day. They’d rampaged through every room. Obscene graffiti covered the walls. All my furniture, including that got for me by Euan, was broken up. The armchair was ripped with a knife and all the stuffing pulled out. They’d tried to set fire to it but fortunately it hadn’t burned, only smouldered. They’d stolen all my personal stuff. Nev’s books had been left, but torn up and the pages scattered around the room. I think I minded more about Nev’s books than losing my gear. Nev had really cared about his books and his giving them to me had meant a great deal to both of us.

All the mould I’d cleaned off with bleach had grown back again in the bathroom and the cistern had been pulled out of the wall and flooded the floor. The floorboards sagged in the middle and the water was probably leaking right through, down into the flat below which wasn’t occupied.

On top of it all, as if anything more was needed, the place smelled foul, acrid from the singed chair stuffing, stale from the mould and damp, but mostly because one of the little charmers had crapped right in the middle of the sitting room floor.

‘I tried to warn you,’ Ganesh said. ‘You can’t stay here. You’ll have to come back to our place. Mum will fix you up with a bed.’

‘Thanks, but no,’ I told him. ‘I’d be answering their questions half the night and you know they wouldn’t understand.’

‘So where are you going to sleep?’ He looked round in disgust. ‘This is a pigsty – look at that filth! Come on, Fran. Even Morgan wouldn’t expect you to stay here!’

I thought about it. ‘I’ll go back to the squat!’

He stared at me. ‘You’re crazy. It’s boarded up.’

‘So – unboard it. You’re always opening crates of fruit. You ought to be able to prise a few boards off a window. We did it before, Squib and Nev and I, when we went back for our gear.’

He looked exasperated. ‘But you can’t stay there on your own! I’ll stay with you. Always supposing we can get in and the place isn’t already occupied by half a dozen winos.’

‘No, you won’t. You’ll go home and make it up with your parents. That’s what I want, Gan? OK? I’ll be all right.’

I was glad to be going back to the squat. The flat had never been anything but a prison. The squat, with all its imperfections and despite the dreadful thing which had happened there, had been home. We’d been happy enough there. I knew the old house and it knew me. We’d keep each other company.

But by the time we got there it was dark and the street was deserted and sinister, like an old B-movie set. Every house had been emptied and only two street lights worked. The only sign of life came from the flat above the Patels’ shop at the corner where they were obviously waiting up for Ganesh, probably with a deputation of aunts and uncles sitting around to lend weight. We stood outside and looked up at the windows.

‘I didn’t ask you how you got on with the police after they split us up,’ I said. ‘Sorry to be so self-centred. Did they give you a bad time?’

‘Could’ve been worse.’ He spoke absently. ‘They phoned through to Hampshire who sent out a car right away to the woods. They must’ve found Squib. There was a lot of yakking on the phone between coppers which didn’t include me. Then I was told I could go home but I have to report back in tomorrow first thing in the morning. I’ll probably have to go back to Hampshire, under police escort. They’ll want to talk to me down there.’

‘Did you tell your family, I mean, about finding a body?’

‘No – they’ve got enough troubles. Dad’s had a letter,’ Ganesh sighed. ‘We’ve got to go, too. The shop’s coming down. They’ve offered compensation. But where will we go?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I thought that would happen. I know your dad had plans about a different kind of shop for the new houses and flats that will come. But they were bound to want to clear the entire area.’

‘When they rebuild, we won’t be able to afford to rent, much less buy, around here.’ Ganesh pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘The family’s very upset. It sounds selfish, but at least it takes the pressure off me. Really, they’ve got more to worry about than me.’

A sari-ed figure appeared at an upper window, outlined against the lamplight within. It looked out at us, and then shimmered away like a
peri
in an oriental fairy-tale. The curtain was drawn.

‘Usha,’ Gan said. ‘Don’t worry, even if she saw us, she won’t give us away.’

We trailed down the dismal street to our old house. The council had repaired the breakage we’d made last time and nailed new boards over the windows and doors, stronger than before. Ganesh got a chisel from the toolbox in the van and we went round the back. The kitchen window was still the most promising. After Ganesh had levered at it for quite a while one of the wooden panels came loose. I swiveled it around and judged I could squeeze through.

‘This’, said Ganesh gloomily, ‘is breaking and entering. We can get done for this. Do you realise that?’

‘Entering what? Only a condemned house. Come on, Gan. There’s nothing to pinch in there.’

There certainly wasn’t. When we’d managed to scramble inside we found that the council had emptied it of any remaining furniture and only bare boards were left.

I tried the kitchen tap. The water was still running. But when I went upstairs to try the taps in the bathroom I found that the council had filled the loo with concrete as a deterrent to anyone else hoping to move into the place.

‘You can’t stay here,’ Ganesh said. ‘You couldn’t even take a leak.’

‘I’ll go out in the garden, behind a bush. We’ve got enough bushes out there. It’s like a jungle.’

‘And where will you sleep? On the floorboards? It’s going to be cold in here tonight. It’s out of the question!’

‘Look!’ I said crossly. ‘It’s for one night and I’ll manage. Tomorrow I’ll go and see Euan at the council and ask them to clean up the flat for me and fix up another door. Or if they won’t do that, they can move me into one of the other highly desirable residences they’ve got empty in that block.’

Ganesh looked miserable. ‘You’re crackers, Fran. How can I leave you here?’

I told him that he could quite easily, and if I was crackers, then that was my problem. I said if he wanted to help he could lend me the sleeping bag from the van.

He went off to get it, muttering and mumbling.

I took a look round. To be quite honest, now it was really dark I was having second thoughts about staying here overnight, all alone. But I was too proud and obstinate to admit that to Ganesh when he’d get back. He’d given me a torch from the van. I flashed it around, telling myself that so long as I
was
alone, I was OK.

Ganesh had been gone some time, longer than just to fetch the sleeping bag. At last he reappeared and called to me to take the stuff he was going to push through the kitchen window. He’d been home and fetched a roll of plastic sheeting and an empty crate.

‘For you to sit on.’

He’d also brought a Thermos of hot tea and a bag of peaches.

‘Mum says’, he panted as he climbed through the window after I’d collected all this stuff, ‘why don’t you come to our place? Honestly, Fran, they wouldn’t mind. She’s really worried about you down here.’

‘Tell her thanks, but now I’ve got the sleeping bag and all the rest of it, I’ll really be fine.’

‘I’ve got this as well.’ He was fumbling with the plastic sheeting. ‘It’s thin stuff but if we put it down on the floor boards under the sleeping bag, at least it will stop the damp rising. Otherwise you won’t be able to get up tomorrow. Your joints will be set solid.’

They’d probably be set solid anyway. I was still suffering from my equestrian adventures.

He spread the plastic on the floor. I spread the sleeping bag on it and put the crate alongside like a bedside table, with the Thermos on the top. It didn’t look so bad.

‘Quite cosy,’ I said.

‘You’re not just crazy,’ he told me. ‘You’re weird.’ He sat on the floor with his arms resting on his knees and frowned at me in the light from the torch. ‘I’ll come over in the morning before I go down to the station and turn myself in for interrogation by the Hampshire Constabulary. Sure you don’t want me to stay here?’

‘Sure, Gan. You should go home and sort things out. I’m really tired. I’ve got all I need and I’ll sleep like a log.’

‘Not a chance!’ he said discouragingly.

‘How are things at your place?’ I asked.

‘Bad, but I can handle that, don’t worry about it. Worry about yourself.’

He didn’t want to go but he went.

I didn’t really want him to go, but the notice to quit must have come as a bombshell to his parents and they needed him there.

I settled down for the night. I drank the tea and ate a couple of peaches and told myself that morning would soon come and although I might be a bit stiff, I’d suffer nothing worse.

I couldn’t get off to sleep. I ached. My mind ran on furiously. I began to imagine things. Right above me was what had been Terry’s room. Every time I heard a creak, which happened every few minutes, I thought about her body dangling from the light fitting up there. I began to think about ghosts. I wondered if she’d turn up and accuse me of deserting the job, down there at the Astara. I felt I had deserted her. I hadn’t established who had killed her, though I’d established a fair motive for Jamie and a lesser one for Lundy. The idea that Jamie and Lundy might’ve worked together was more and more feasible. Jamie would have been the planner and Lundy his executioner. I would go and see Janice in the morning and argue it through with her again. That had to be the way it had been. She had at least to talk to Jamie.

Not that it would do any good, not unless they did find any prints in the house and the more I thought about that, the more it seemed a long shot. Even the crassest amateur knows to wear gloves these days. As for Janice questioning Jamie, he’d be more than capable of fending off her queries. He’d be plausible. He’d sit there looking handsome and frank and turning on the charm. Janice, going through her divorce, was vulnerable. There’d she be in her crepe blouse and one of her dowdy suits, putty in Jamie’s hands.