‘I don’t feel that great,’ she said. ‘I feel a bit sick and dizzy.’
‘You’re not hungover, are you? I didn’t think you drank that much last night.’
‘No. It’s not that. I think I might be coming down with that horrible virus that’s been going round. Either that, or it’s the after-effect of seeing that rat.’
Jamie was concerned. Kirsty was very rarely ill. Working in the hospital, where she was always surrounded by germs and viruses, her immune system had built walls that were six feet thick and bulletproof. He put his hand on her forehead.
‘You feel quite hot. Maybe we’d better stay in this afternoon.’
‘Oh, I’ll probably be better by then. But I’d love a cup of tea. That might help.’
He prepared her tea, and there was a knock at the door.
‘That’ll be Brian. I promised I’d have a look at his PC for him.’
‘Sure. I’m just going to lie here and read the paper.’
He kissed her clammy forehead then opened the door. Chris was standing there, holding a bright green envelope.
‘Oh. I was expecting Brian.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that.’
Chris pulled a face to demonstrate that he didn’t really care if Jamie had meant it like that or not. He held out the envelope. ‘This is from Lucy and me. It’s just a card to say thanks.’
‘Oh.’ He felt embarrassed. ‘You needn’t have, really. It was our pleasure.’
‘Yes, well, we believe in being polite. By the way, do you still want me to take a look at that door for you? It’s still sticking.’
‘Yes, sure. If you don’t mind.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Chris went back down the hall and began to examine the door. Jamie felt puzzled. Chris didn’t seem very happy. In fact, he seemed downright miserable. Jamie’s first paranoid thought was that he had done something wrong – that he had said something to offend Chris at the dinner party. Or maybe Chris had the same virus as Kirsty. If so, he must be pretty unlucky, and unhealthy. He had been ill when they had first moved in, or so Lucy had said. It didn’t fit. Chris looked like an ox, ruddy with health. In the end, Jamie decided he must simply be in a bad mood, and put it from his mind.
Brian came in through the door, saying hello to Chris as he passed him, his face lighting up when he saw Jamie. ‘There was no need to wait in the hallway for me.’
‘I wasn’t. I, oh, never mind.’ He realised he was still holding the card. He slid it under his door and then followed Brian up the stairs.
As they reached the top of the first flight, there was a thump at the window, and a shape appeared behind the frosted glass. Jamie jumped, his heartbeat skipping. It was Lennon, Mary’s cat. He poked his head through the gap where the window was open, mewing as he did so, then jumped down onto the stairs and ran up to Mary’s front door.
‘How the hell did he get up there?’ Jamie asked.
‘There’s a fire escape just to the right of the window there. He climbs up it from the garden then jumps across to the windowsill. It’s a death-defying leap, actually. I’ve watched him do it. It’s terrifying. Every time I see it I’m convinced he’s going to miss the windowsill and plummet to his death.’
As they walked up the stairs past the cat, Jamie looked down at him. Lennon rubbed against his ankle. Jamie had a thought, but didn’t say anything.
They went up another flight to Brian’s front door. Brian unlocked the door and they went inside. There was a strong smell of fresh coffee, which was one of Jamie’s favourite smells in the world. As if he had seen Jamie’s nostrils twitching with pleasure, Brian said, ‘Coffee?’
‘That would be great.’
‘The computer’s in there, if you want to take a look.’
‘OK. Is Linda not in?’
‘No, she works Saturdays.’
‘In Boots.’
‘That’s right.’
Jamie went into the room Brian had pointed out. Brian and Linda’s flat was slightly bigger than Jamie’s. It had a larger second bedroom, which Brian had converted into a study. As he stepped into the room, Jamie caught his breath. ‘Bloody hell.’
It was like stepping in to a vampire’s crypt – or a gothic teenager’s bedroom. The walls were painted black, and a black blind was pulled down over the window, blocking out all light. Dyed-black fisherman’s netting was strung across the ceiling. Statuettes of gargoyles sat on dark wood cabinets. Packets of tarot cards lay among piles of books; fat candles protruded from elaborate candleholders, their bases encrusted with dried rivulets of wax. There were pictures of ghosts and witches and demons all over the walls. Jamie quickly realised these were the reproductions of the covers of Brian’s books. One showed a child being held over a cauldron by a green-faced witch. Another showed a vampire bending over a sleeping girl.
‘Boo!’ said Brian, coming into the room behind Jamie. For the second time in five minutes, Jamie jumped.
‘I was just admiring the decor,’ he said nervously waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.
Brian laughed. ‘Atmospheric, isn’t it? I have to keep it this way to make sure I’m in the right mood when I’m writing.’ He picked up a book off a pile on his desk. It was called
The Creature in the Cradle
. The cover showed a pair of red eyes peering out of a cot, and a clawed hand reaching out towards the reader.
‘That was one of my early books, before the latest craze for vampires started.’
‘Wow. I’d have loved this stuff when I was a kid. I was really into monsters and make-believe. I remember watching Doctor Who with a cushion over my face.’
‘At least you weren’t behind the sofa. You can have that if you like.’
‘Are you sure? Thanks. Now, let’s have a look at this problem of yours.’
He booted up the PC and sat down in front of the monitor. ‘It’s a nice system. Must have set you back a fair whack. But you’re having problems with the internet? Is it the router, I wonder?’ He mumbled to himself.
He checked the phone line then pressed a few keys. Within a few minutes he had solved the problem. The router was working fine.
‘What was wrong?’
Jamie sipped his coffee. It tasted as good as it smelled. ‘It was something to do with your WEP key. That was all. Dead easy to sort out. But you’re ready to go online now.’
‘Thank you so much.’
Jamie left him to it. He went back down the stairs carrying his copy of Brian’s book. Lennon had gone, either into Mary’s flat or back out the window. At the bottom of the stairs, Chris was working on the door, planing its edges. Jamie waved at him then went back into his own flat. The thank you card was still lying on the carpet. He carried it in to Kirsty, who was where he had left her, lying on the sofa. She had managed to put the TV on and was watching a makeover show.
‘How are you feeling?’
She coughed and said, ‘Not too good. It’s come on really quickly. I felt fine when I got up. Why were you so long?’
‘I had to help him get on the internet. Look, he gave me a book.’
‘Oh. For readers aged ten to fourteen. Your kind of book.’
‘And we got a card from Lucy and Chris.’
‘What for?’
‘It’s to say thanks for last night, apparently.’
She took the card from Jamie and opened it. ‘Oh God, there are rats on it.’ She closed her eyes and thrust it back at Jamie.
‘They’re mice, Kirsty. You must be ill. Look, they’re cute little mice. Squeak squeak.’
She grimaced. ‘Take it away.’
‘Shush. Chris is just out there. He’ll hear you. And you’re certainly not well enough to go into town. In fact, you ought to be in bed.’
After he had led Kirsty into the bedroom and watched her curl up beneath the quilt, Jamie went back into the living room. He picked up the card and read the message inside. It simply said To Jamie and Kirsty. Thanks. From Lucy and Chris.
He put the card on the mantelpiece. The funny thing was, Kirsty was right: the creatures on the front did look a bit like rats.
The next morning, Kirsty’s condition had worsened. She had lain awake half the night, coughing and keeping Jamie awake as well, and now she had a sore throat and a headache, and she said her bones felt like lead-lined pipes and her skin was sore. ‘I need drugs,’ she said. ‘Paracetamol, Lemsip, Anadin, cough mixture, Tunes…’
‘Then I’d better go down the shop.’
He got dressed and opened the front door.
‘I don’t believe it.’
From the bedroom, Kirsty called hoarsely, ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing – my shoelace came undone. I was just over-reacting.’ He had decided to lie because he didn’t want to upset her when she was ill. There was another dead rat lying in the same spot as yesterday. In fact, it looked like the same rat. Jamie felt as if he had entered some weird time-loop, like in Groundhog Day. He crept back inside, grabbed a carrier bag and picked up the animal’s body the same way he had the day before. Then he went out to the dustbin. He had a horrible feeling that it was the same rat – but there was yesterday’s carrier bag, in the same place. He wondered how hygienic this was, putting dead rats in the dustbin. But he didn’t know what else to do with them. He dropped the second rat on top of the first and replaced the dustbin lid.
When he got back from the chemists, he noticed the front door had stopped sticking. Chris had done a good job. He would have to thank him when he next saw him.
He went into the bedroom and watched as she took a couple of spoonfuls of cough medicine. Then he went back into the kitchen to prepare a Lemsip for her. While waiting for the kettle to boil he looked out of the front window. He saw Chris come up the steps from his flat and head towards his car. Jamie hurried back outside.
‘Hi, I just wanted to say thanks for fixing the door.’
Chris nodded. ‘No problem.’
Jamie hesitated. ‘I wanted to ask you – have you ever had any problems with Mary’s cat?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, we’ve had a couple of dead rats left on our doormat, and the only thing I can think of is that it’s the cat. I know it goes up and down the fire escape, and I thought it might be catching rats somewhere and bringing them in, leaving them as little presents for us.’
Chris shrugged. ‘It’s never left anything outside our door. Probably knows it would get a shovel over its head if it did. Best have a word with her upstairs, mate.’
‘Yes.’
Chris opened his car door. ‘How’s Kirsty? We could hear her coughing all night.’
‘She’s not well at all. I thought maybe she had the same cold you and Lucy had.’
‘Yeah, that was a bad one. Talk about a thumping headache. Christ. Anyway, I must shoot off. There’s an emergency at work.’
‘On a Sunday?’
‘Yeah. No peace for the wicked.’ He got into the car and wound the window down. ‘And don’t worry – you don’t owe me anything for the door.’ He drove off.
Jamie went back inside and took Kirsty her Lemsip. She was asleep. This was going to be a crappy Sunday, what with Kirsty sick in bed. He looked around the flat. The housework needed doing, but he didn’t want to disturb Kirsty with the vacuum cleaner. That was his excuse, anyway. He decided to go up and see Mary, ask her about the rats. Maybe Lennon had a history of it.
He went up and knocked on the door. No answer. Shit. Maybe he should write her a note, or try again later. He sighed, pissed off that he was stuck indoors on a day like this, when it was so glorious outside and the sky was so blue. Still, if he had to be stuck indoors, he couldn’t think of a better place to be.
He turned to go down the stairs and then heard a noise out in the garden. He looked through the gap. Lucy was standing in the middle of the lawn, facing the house. She was holding Lennon, stroking his head and jiggling him a little, like a mother holding a baby. As Jamie watched, she walked inside with him and closed the door behind her.
Kirsty’s flu dragged on for the rest of the week. She was too ill to go to work so she carried the duvet into the living room and spent four days in front of the TV. Jamie went to work, phoning her a couple of times every day to check how she was feeling. She told him she felt like death, but, truth be told, she was quite enjoying her spell at home. Apart from the throat-shredding cough and the constant nose-blowing, she rather liked being the patient for once, groaning hoarse requests for cups of tea and medicine. During the days, she gorged herself on daytime TV and staggered around in her dressing gown, feeling wonderfully decadent and sluttish.
On Thursday afternoon, there was a knock at the door.
Kirsty, who had been flicking through the channels, trying to decide between a Jeremy Kyle repeat and an ancient episode of Morse, dragged herself to the door and opened it. The woman standing there had an anxious expression on her face.
‘Hello, I’m Mary.’ She offered her hand. ‘You must be Kirsty.’
Kirsty’s first concern was how awful she must look. She always hoped to look her best when meeting someone for the first time. She was a firm believer in the importance of initial impressions, and here she was with a red-raw nose, flaky skin, greasy hair and most probably the sour smell of someone who hasn’t left the house for days. Her second thought was, It’s the witch. Then she thought, She doesn’t look much like a witch – just a hippy, like Jamie said. All this flashed through her head in the second it took her to shake Mary’s hand.
‘Are you ill?’ Mary asked, looking concerned.
‘Oh, just a touch of flu, that’s all.’
Mary nodded. ‘That awful virus that’s going around. Everybody I know has had it. You should try drinking ginger – it kills flu in its tracks, stops it dead. Ginger with a drop of honey in it.’
‘I’m quite happy with paracetamol and codeine, thank you.’
Mary looked appalled. ‘They won’t help. Trust me, ginger’s what you need. I’ve got some upstairs. I’ll fetch it for you in a minute.’
‘But…’
‘And I won’t take no for an answer.’
Kirsty smiled politely. Now she was thinking, What a pushy cow. She sniffed. Suddenly, she felt cold, and she wanted to get back to her quilt on the sofa.
‘The reason I came down was to ask if you’ve seen Lennon, my cat. I haven’t seen him since Sunday and I’m really worried. He does sometimes wander off for a couple of days, but he’s never been gone this long before.’