“Just wait a minute, would you?” she yelled through the ceiling. “I’m right in the middle of something.”
She began to shuffle her way, as quickly as she dared, back the way she had come, the planks wobbling beneath her feet. “Bloody John bloody Granger acting the bloody lord and master in someone else’s house,” she muttered. “I’m going to give that upstart a piece of my miiiiiiiii . . .”
In her haste she overwobbled on the plank; she tried to regain her balance, but it was no good. Gravity and self-preservation kicking in at the same time, she threw her arms out to steady herself, but the wood beneath her feet was see-sawing wildly and her ankles were following suit. In another second, one foot had slipped off the plank completely; Annie’s right foot clumped hard down between the beams and kept on going, straight through the ceiling below with an alarming crunch. She was knelt on one leg as though waiting for a starter pistol to go off; both hands gripping the plank, her other leg dangling uselessly through the hole above what she could see, looking down, was the kitchen.
Chapter 45
Oh, buggery shitting bollocks!” she yelled as she tried to heave her leg up. The motion upset the box of fairy lights farther down the plank, and before she had finished shouting “Shit on it!” the box had crashed through the hatch.
The banging on the door grew urgent.
“Annie! What’s going on in there? Let me in! Are you hurt?”
Annie let out a howl of annoyance; she couldn’t get her leg back up to the rest of her body. Of all the bloody people, she thought angrily, it had to be him!
“I’m fine,” she called. She heard a jangling of keys and the door to the flat opening. Annie groaned.
“I’m coming in,” said John. “It’s John Granger.”
“Yes, I gathered that,” she called.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the kitchen . . . kind of.”
She heard John moving below her. Wait for it . . .
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m having a fucking teddy bears’ picnic! What does it look like I’m fucking doing?”
“What is it with you and decimating my aunt’s house?” She could hear a smirk in his voice.
“You’re going to have the place bulldozed to make way for your swanky apartments anyway. I should have thought you’d be pleased I’d made a start!”
Silence. Annie raised her eyes skyward. She’d done it again. John Granger brought out the absolute worst in her. She tried to wiggle her leg up again but she couldn’t make her foot fit back through the hole without unbalancing herself.
“You’re just making more mess,” said John above the pitter-patter of horsehair plaster hitting the kitchen lino.
“Then why don’t you sodding well help me?”
“Did you hurt it in the fall or am I okay to manipulate your ankle?”
“No, I didn’t hurt it.”
“I’m going to take your plimsoll off,” he called up.
She could hear the hesitation in his voice. Was he embarrassed at the idea of removing a woman’s shoe?
“Okay,” she called down.
She felt the delicate tugging as he untied the laces on her Converse high-top and slipped it off, then a gentle pressure as he took her foot in his hand and began to push upward.
“Just relax. No, you’re tensing up. Relax your foot, so that I can twist it to fit back through the hole. It should be okay now that your shoe is off.”
“Right.” Annie could feel her cheeks burning. This was not her finest moment.
In another minute, her leg was back in the same room as her body.
“Do you need me to come up and help you down?” he asked.
“No,” said Annie. “Thank you. Just give me a minute.” She remembered the other boxes. “There’re more things up here I need to bring down.”
“Just bring yourself down,” said John. “You can tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. I put most of the things up there anyway.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’m making my way back now.” She shuffled backward along the plank on her hands and knees, somewhat less confident than when she’d arrived in the attic. When she reached the hatch, she waggled one leg about, trying to find the top of the stepladder. She felt John’s hand grip her ankle.
“Let me guide your foot down to the rung,” he said.
Annie did as she was told.
“Keep coming backward,” he went on. “I’ve got you.”