There was a second armchair – clearly part of the same set, but a lot less scuffed, dusty, and sagging – and a wooden dining chair, all three facing a small TV. Though it wasn’t on.
A bookcase lurked in the corner, stuffed full of record-your-own video tapes. Each one carefully labelled in faded ink along the spine.
Having completed his wobbly journey, the old man collapsed into his seat.
Logan sat on the edge of the wooden chair. ‘Mr Findlater, I’m—’
‘Frank.’ Now that it wasn’t filtered through the intercom’s wiring, his voice was a low, dark rumble. ‘S’ Frank.’
‘Frank. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’
Blank look.
‘Your grandson, Spencer? He was hit by a car this afternoon and he’s in hospital.’
‘Hospital?...Man...’ He shook his head, blinking, as if trying to get spots out of his vision. ‘I’ve been...having...erm...tests.’
Rennie wandered over to the other armchair, lowering himself into—
‘NO!’ Mr Findlater was on his feet, no longer folded over and trembling, but huge and broad and powerful. ‘DON’T YOUFUCKIN’DARE!’
Rennie scrambled out of the seat, before his bum could even touch down. ‘OK, it’s OK.’
‘YOU STAY OUT OF HER CHAIR!’
‘OK, I’m sorry!’ Hands up in surrender. ‘Won’t go near it. See? Promise.’ He backed away from the seat.
‘Nobodysits there.’ Glowering at the empty space.
As the anger faded, so did Mr Findlater – the towering monster shrinking until only the trembling old man remained.
He juddered his way back into his own chair.
Well, that was...Yeah.
Logan cleared his throat. ‘Mr...Frank, is there anyone we can call? A carer, or somebody?’
‘Spencer takes...Spencer’s my grandson....He takes care of me.’
‘But Spencer’s inhospital, Frank.’
A frown crumpled that monolith brow. ‘I...erm...I been in hospital....They ran...tests.’
‘Tell you what, Frank, why don’t I make you a nice cup of tea?’ Logan stood. ‘Would you like a tea?’
But Mr Findlater seemed to have drifted away, squinting at the blank TV instead, as if something was already playing there.
‘Right.’ Heading for the living-room door.
Tufty scurried over. ‘I’ll get the teas in, if you like?’ Playing the good sidekick.
‘You stay here and keep an eye on Sergeant Rennie. Just in case.’ Then Logan slipped out into the hall.
It was an awkward, fat ‘L’ shape, with a mess of eight doors leading off.
The first one opened on a cupboard full of dusty bed linen.
The second revealed a kitchen that was more like a corridor, lined with grunky, old-fashioned cupboards and cabinets.
