It should have stopped me, should have had me turn on my heel and run away. Instead, I kept going until I was inside.
20
As soon as I was inside, the landlord pushed the door shut, folded his beefy arms, and looked down at me. ‘You’re little. It might suit.’
As a conversation opener, it failed dismally, my mind immediately flitting to coffins and graves, dark holes to hide a body. I might have turned and made an attempt to get away, if he hadn’t suddenly smiled. ‘It might suit you very well indeed.’ He opened the drawer of a hall table and took out a set of keys. ‘Come on, I’ll show it to you.’ But instead of leading the way further into the house or up the stairway behind, he waved to the door behind me. ‘We need to go out again.’
Outside, instead of heading to the garden gate, he turned left and disappeared round the corner of the house. Feeling slightly bewildered, I followed.
A garage was set slightly further back. A wide pathway separated it from the house, a gate at the far end leading, I assumed, to a rear garden. Expecting to be brought through this, I was surprised when he stopped at a doorway set into the side of the garage. ‘Here we are,’ he said, pushing the door open and standing back.
Here we were indeed. The garage had been converted into a small studio apartment. There was no sign inside of the up and over door I had seen at the front. I guessed that had been left in situ to fool the authorities. Bathford was in a conservation area, there was no way he’d have had planning permission for the conversion of the garage into a separate dwelling.
Above the only entrance, a long narrow window ran the length of the wall. When the door was shut, it threw little light over the interior. The man, whose name I still didn’t know, reached a hand along the wall, and pressed the light switch.
One end of the compact space was divided into two, a small surprisingly well-appointed kitchen on one side, and on the other a tiny bathroom with a shower, wash-hand basin and toilet. A single bed sat against the wall at the other end. The only other furniture was a single sofa, a narrow wardrobe, an even narrower bookshelf, a chest of drawers, and a small square table bracketed by two chairs.
‘Well?’ he asked, as I walked from one end to the other, peering into the bathroom as I passed.
I sat on the sofa. I wanted to smile, to shout, yes, it’s absolutely perfect. Before I got too excited, I needed to know about the rent. ‘It’s a bit smaller than I’d hoped for.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s got everything you need.’
It had. I wanted it, but it had to be cheaper than where I was. ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ I said getting to my feet. I reached the door, then turned. ‘I never got your name.’
‘Theo Bridges. It’s very quiet here and I won’t interfere with you at all. I work from home. I’m a scribbler and usually glued to the computer so you’ll rarely even see me.’
I’d no idea what he meant by a scribbler and didn’t care. I was more intent on getting this apartment at the right price. ‘It’s not bad, and as you say I am little.’ I smiled. ‘I suppose it might be tempting. How much is the rent?’ I tried to neither look nor sound eager. When he named a figure almost half what I was currently paying, I had to swallow my whoop of excitement. ‘I’ll take it.’
He had turned away and his head swivelled back to look at me. I was glad it hadn’t gone all the way around. I’d seen The Exorcist. It wasn’t pretty. It wouldn’t have stopped me renting the apartment though, it would simply have made me change the locks.
I’d already given notice to my current landlord, so I was able to move in less than two weeks later.
Theo promised to leave the key available and was true to his word. An envelope was stuck to the door with a strip of tape. I tore it open, knocked the key into my hand and opened the door.
It took me less than ten minutes to unpack. Theo had, as promised, provided a TV. I switched it onto a music channel, sank onto the sofa and let the sound fill the space.
I wished it could have filled the space in my head too. The one where the scary thoughts lived. Sometimes, I would swear I heard Jemma and Olivia howling their anger at having their lives taken from them.
Sometimes, I would swear they were asking for company.
21
When I joined the nursing agency, I had to do a full day of mandatory training.
A waste of a day. Worse, I had to pay for the pleasure. But since I couldn’t work till the training was done, I zipped my mouth shut on my grumbles and resigned myself to hours of total boredom.
Thanks to the bus, I arrived early and was first into the room where the training was to be held. Uncomfortable chairs sat in rows before a dais holding a desk, whiteboard and flip chart. All the tools of the course-giver’s trade. Weapons of mass boredom.
I had my choice of seats. The first seat of the third row seemed the best option. Near the door, it was convenient for a quick escape. Each seat held a notepad and pen, I picked them up, shoved them into my bag without looking and sat on a chair designed to ensure the occupant would never be comfortable enough to fall asleep.
It was going to be a very long day.
Windows along one wall gave a view over the office building next door. I was peering through the windows, watching as the workers arrived for their day when I had the distinct feeling I was no longer alone in the room.
I’d left the door open behind me. When I turned, there was a woman standing there, silently unmoving. I hadn’t heard her footsteps on the corridor. It was as if she’d appeared from nowhere. More oddly, as she entered the room, I was sure I knew her from somewhere. When she came closer, I realised it wasn’t her face, as such, it was something about her eyes.
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Hello.’ She indicated the chair beside me with a tilt of her head. ‘I may as well sit there, unless you’re saving it for someone.’
‘No, I’m not.’
The rows were well spaced apart and I didn’t need to move to allow her past. It wasn’t till she’d picked up her jotter and pen and sat, that I turned to her and said, ‘You look familiar. Have we met before?’ When she looked up from her examination of the standard jotter and logoed pen, I was startled once more by a sense of recognition when I met her eyes. There are things that take you back, a certain song, a sound, a scent, and usually you’re propelled back in time by whatever it is to a pleasant memory. But this was different, I was filled with a creeping unease.
‘I think I’ve seen you in the Bath United,’ she said. ‘I was there for a couple of years.’
‘Oh, right, yes. I was there for eight.’
‘Two was enough for me.’ She smiled. ‘I’m Carol Lyons.’
‘Melissa McColl. Most people call me Lissa.’ I returned the smile, but the unease lingered. It hadn’t entirely vanished by the end of the long tiresome day and when she suggested we go for a drink as we left the building, I should have said no, should have made any excuse. I didn’t though, I agreed and went along with her. I hoped if I spent more time with her, I’d figure out just why she seemed so familiar because I wasn’t convinced it was from the Bath United.
I wasn’t a drinker, nor was I keen on spending the little money I had to spare on drinking in the trendy bar she took us to.