‘Absolutely.’ The big light casts a clinical glow across the space.
Being the professional man of property he is, Pete doesn’t make me go through the charade of trying to sell him the place by describing things he can work out for himself. He goes into each room, looks it up and down like he did in the shots when he was his squidgier, younger self inFixer Uppers Go Under the Hammer.There’s no small talk; his brow furrows and flattens at points as he assesses what he sees. In the bathroom, the stain of the uncle is less dramatic than I’d remembered it. Pete certainly doesn’t seem as interested in it as I was.
‘Alright if I have a look at the other flat?’
I don’t go in with him. Instead I prepare on the landing, getting what I need from my bag until Pete reappears with a smug air about him.
‘Has anyone else viewed here?’
‘Nope, only me and my boss.’
‘Perfect…’
It seems to have only occurred to him now that he doesn’t know my name. I fill in the blank for him. ‘Jennifer.’ He also hasn’t asked where I work, so I hand him a business card. ‘I’m new so I don’t have one with my name on it yet.’
He doesn’t examine the details of it, just slides it into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. ‘So, Jennifer, fancy going to get a juice together to discuss all this? And maybe some other stuff, too?’
‘A juice? With me?’ Maybe I’m not as bad at flirting as I thought.
‘Don’t drink alcohol or caffeine when I’m cutting, but we could get a juice. There’s a place not far from here. A walk in the fresh air would do us good after being in here, eh?’
‘Sounds great. I’ll lock up and get you downstairs in a sec.’ I shoogle the keys so I sound like I’m doing what I said, when what I’m actually doing is waiting for him to reach the wonky step I noticed earlier. It makes him the perfect height to shove down the stairs so he will fall, injure himself and be prohibited from enjoying the things he loves for a while, the way his tenants aren’t able to enjoy a secure home or safe electrics.
‘What?’ He says, not falling face first but onto his arse.
Pete not being fully incapacitated is an eventuality I’ve prepared for. ‘Are you OK? Do you need a hand getting up?’
The charming gentleman Pete we have all known and loved vanishes. Pulling on the banister, he comes up to his full height and turns to me, unblinking, his jaw set solid. It’s safe to say I don’t think he wants to get a juice with me anymore.
‘What the fuck did you do? What kind of fucking game are you playing?’
This is frightening, not part of the plan. Thrilling in its own terrifying way. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you fucking do.’
Panic flutters in my chest. Pete shoves me in the spot where it congregates, and the sting of him using nowhere near his full force against me tells me this is the time to grab for the hammer I got from my bag a moment ago. The hammer is from Colin’s toolbox. I thought, given Pete’s physical strength, having some back-up was a good idea. ‘There’s no need for that, is there? We’ve had a misunderstanding.’ I back away from him as he reaches the peak of the stairs.
Pete’s breath whistles in and out of his mouth through his gritted teeth. His decision to attack me properly is clear. He blinks, his mouth slackens before he draws his fist back. The space this creates between our bodies is large enough for me to get good height on the swing of the hammer; it flies above my head and smashes into Pete’s. His fist barely makes impact with my face, but I wince as it does, expecting to be struck again harder. I’m not. My blow to Pete has caused him to fall backwards onto the stairs, his head connecting with the edge of one.
For a minute I catch my breath, appreciate I only have a stinging cheek and not a broken nose or worse. When I’m calmer I go to the edge of the staircase, hammer in hand in case Pete comes for me again. Looking at him twitching, his jagged breaths slowing to nothing, I realise Pete is no longer a danger to me or anyone else.
My urge to flee is overtaken by my desire not to get in trouble. I pop the hammer into my gym bag, making sure no trace of me is left behind. Then I sit on the landing and look down on Pete’s body. His skin’s going a funny colour; it turns out there’s only so much paleness a spray tan can cover. Watching him like this ensures he is actually dead and not pretending to be, while also allowing me to absorb that I have – yet again – done some light manslaughter. Actually, maybe that’s not right. It was self-defence, kill or be killed. Pete chose violence and I was the one who came out victorious. I don’t feel like a winner as I lock up the house and walk back to the car, my legs aching from the treadmill. But I do know I’m alive. Maybe for the first time in my existence I truly know it.
23
What I want for my drive back to Hamilton is some pounding indie music on maximum volume that reminds me of being twenty again. The soundtrack to the last time I remember being free like this, believing anything was possible. Although ‘anything’ at that time was mainly dry-humping men with long fringes in darkened nightclub corners, hoping they might be the person to save me, and talking about training to be something impressive for a career but never finishing any college course I ever started. Without my phone I can’t connect to the stereo, and Brian has the digital radio tuned only to stations that talk about football and play no tunes. Instead of being euphoric, the drive has the energy of a bad date. All this anticipation, all this excitement, falling flat as some guy drones on about Celtic’s chances at the weekend not being as good as folk make out because their star striker has strained a tendon.
There’s a nice stretch of motorway with hardly any other cars on it. I put my foot down to work through my adrenaline with pure speed but once I hit eighty mph I bottle it. I cannae be getting done for speeding in a car I don’t own with a bloodied hammer about my person. I drop back to two miles below the speed limit until I reach the car’s usual parking spot in an alley behind the office. Then I press the ignition button on the car and listen to it shut down, the thrum of the engine hums before it stops completely. I am not ready to switch off, I’m still jangly from all that’s passed. Closing my eyes, I put my head against the headrest and think what I can do, where I can go to get some release.
What I’d like to do is have sex, but there’s no one I can call and ask round for a shag and it not be humiliating if they say no. Hamilton isn’t the sort of place you can hang about a bar midweek and find it filled with men you’d want to have inside you. Anyway, I’m fantastically clear-headed. I can’t dull that by feigning interest in a random man, no thank you. But going home and watching Malcolm would be the same as every other night. I need to utilise this sensation, I can’t waste it. Then the answer comes to me.
The buzzer for my flat goes, and I feel so good about myself I’m not compelled to check my reflection in the mirror to make sure I look presentable for my visitor. After I got in I had a shower, put my clothes in the washing machine, got changed into a pair of dark-wash jeans I’ve had forever – the waistband of them eased out to fit my waist perfectly – and put on a plain grey jumper. My cheek stings but isn’t bruising, not yet anyway. I haven’t even dried my hair. Sometimes it frizzes like hell if I leave it to air-dry but today it’s being kind to me.
I listen to his footsteps come up the stairs and only actually open the door when he’s directly outside it and has been for a second or two. Make him wait for me, just a bit. When I open it, I beckon Nicol in and lock the door behind him. Put the key in my back pocket. This only ends when I want it to.
‘It’s weird to be back.’ Nicol’s eyes wander the hallway as if it’s been years and not seven weeks. ‘It’s how I remember it but different. You know?’
‘Sort of.’ I am going through a similar thing seeing him up close, waiting for my body to react to him being here, for a pang of something to hit me, but there’s nothing. Which is weird. I expected once we were reunited in the scene of Nicol’s crimes against me I’d have to quell my desire to injure him. Maybe what passed with Pete mere hours ago has satisfied those urges.
