‘No more buts. He’s in the same line of work, we are friendly people, and if we don’t, I’m not coming either. All right?’
I didn’t think Elle had much authority in the group, but I was clearly wrong, because after a few seconds of silence, Em shrugs.
‘Whatever. I mean, he doesn’t even want to, Elle. Look at him.’
This puts me in a bind, because I realise out of nowhere that I really do quite like the idea. And although I’d die before admitting it to these amateurs, I have been feeling a bit – what’s the word? – a bitoutmodedrecently. As if my body is joining in with these guys against me, my ankle throbs to remind me,You could be a bit fitter, too.
I’m curious about how these guys operate. And, in the unlikely event that they know something I don’t – maybe this Jonny guy has some skill, maybe not – I can always learn how to do exactly what they do and replicate it when I’m back on my own. Anyway, they look wet behind the ears. Six months they’ve been doing it? Rank amateurs. They’re lucky they haven’t been arrested.
So I shrug too, and say, as nonchalantly as I can manage: ‘I wouldn’t object to joining you for a place, assuming you have one in mind.’
Em snorts. Jonny raises an eyebrow as if to say,this won’t end well. It falls to Elle to clap like a schoolgirl and say: ‘That’s settled, then. How exciting!’
I can’t sleep.
I’m lying in the fourth bedroom, on the first floor, with zero idea what’s going on. Em and Elle have been in the master bedroom – the one I think of as mine – since they got here afortnight ago. I’ve elected to sleep as far away as possible, in the room at the other end of the corridor, overlooking next door’s mega-extension. Jonny said he doesn’t need a bed because he’s semi-nocturnal. So that leaves me in the poky room with the squeaky bed frame and moth-eaten mattress. If I was really paranoid, I could have tried to find another house in the area, but I’m whacked.
Not enough to sleep though, apparently. I can’t believe there are other people doing this. In eight years I’ve met plenty of blaggers defying their landlords, lots of squatters, even a few people squatting their own homes, trying to dodge eviction: but someone else actually interloping? A first. Hard not to feel threatened.
I can hear their voices downstairs still, and the clink of glasses too; they were opening another bottle as I went to bed. I grope around on the floor and eventually manage to jab my phone. Half two. They really must be young.
There wouldn’t be any harm in checking out what they’re saying. If I’d been thinking properly, I would have hidden my phone downstairs to record the room: as it is, I’ll just have to stay quiet.
The door doesn’t make a sound as I ease it open, which is a relief, although I’m certainly moving slowly. It takes about five minutes to get it open enough to slip out onto the landing. I should have made a creak-map the last time I was here – instead I just ease along the edge, where most people tend not to tread. As I get to the top of the stairs, I see the light from the main parlour, and lean down to hear the conversation.
‘What about the body?’ That’s Jonny speaking.
‘Come on, Jonny. Standard procedure. Once it’s been stripped for parts we’ll ditch the rest in the reservoir. Guys, this is basic stuff, there’s no need to keep on going over it.’
It could be a car they’re talking about, of course. Seems likeliest. I nudge down another step or two, just to get their voices clearer.
‘I don’t like changing plans. Especially as we only secured the asset today.’
Could still be a car. Perfectly possible they’ve stolen a car and are working out what to do with it.
‘All right. But I’m not taking responsibility for it if it goes wrong.’
‘What could go wrong?’
‘Remember last time? He came round during the procedure, started thrashing about on the table like a tuna. It was awful.’
Doesn’t sound like it could be a car, actually, on reflection.
‘That was Elle miscalculating the dose. We won’t make that mistake again.’
‘I have apologised for that, like, fifty times. You weighed him wrong, anyway. But we have this one all sorted. We’ll get the dimensions, carry out the procedure, ditch the rest … Who wanted this one again?’
Parts of me I haven’t thought about for years are starting to break out in perspiration. Have you ever actually experienced a cold sweat? It’s real. I lean against the wall for support; the voices carry on.
‘I think they were based in Nepal. The inner organs, anyway. The extremities are for that woman in Malawi.’
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I have to stay calm. They’ll have bolted the front door, of course. What’s paramount now is keeping as much space as possible between me and them.
I thank the god of interloping that I know this building inside out. There’s a window in my room which has a tiny ledge outside it, big enough to balance on, and a useful drainpipe by its side. I’ll climb out there, clamber as far down as I can, try and hit the ground on my un-fucked ankle, get away from these freaks. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what have I stumbled into?
‘We’d better get started now if we’re going to finish before sunrise. The shaman claims she can always tell if the organs have been exposed to sunlight.’
Who are these people?
