smoke, she collapsed into bed, her last thoughts a sleepy jumble of electric skin and stars.
She didn’t hear the roar booming out of the woods. A deep-throated snarl and a high-pitched yelp intermingled. Then, the final scream of a fox floated though the open bedroom window. Izzy muttered in her sleep and rolled over. Silence retook the night.
Chapter 8
20th July
Izzy drove towards the flats, and pulled up alongside the back end of a hire van. One of the back doors swung on its hinges, exposing the pile of brown moving boxes inside. Flicking the indicator, she turned into the next space and peered in the window. A badly folded map covered the dashboard. Acrumpled pack of cigarettes lay on the chair, and the footwell lay ankle deep in discarded food cartons. With no one in the drivers seat to welcome, she grabbed a bag with milk and bread out of the boot and locked up. Before she got to the main entrance, Cathy opened the door.
“What’s all that about?” Izzy thumbed over her shoulder at the van.
“Didn’t you hear? Someone’s moving into the studio flat next to Feathers. It’s been for rent for a while, you know,” Cathy said.
“Have you met them?” Izzy leaned forward and dropped her voice to a suitable gossiping whisper.
“Not a couple, just a man, and I only saw the back of him. Wait around long enough, and I’m sure he’ll be down for some more boxes.” She suppressed a laugh. “Bet he’s another gay. Gilbert’ll be knocking on his door once he finds out he’s there alone.”
“How can you be so certain he’s on his own?” Izzy switched the milk to the other hand, and glanced at the rental.
Cathy thought for a couple of seconds, then said, “I guess I don’t. But he’s not got much. If he had a girlfriend – or a boyfriend for that matter, there’d be more boxes.”
“Could be she’s minding their child while he’s doing the hard work,” Izzy countered.
“Again, not enough stuff. Kids come with more things than their parents.” Cathy sneaked a quick glance up the stairwell. “I still think he’ll turn out to be gay.”
Izzy laughed. “Well, bring him a welcome bunch of flowers. Remember to take notes on how he accepts them.”
“Good idea.” Cathy nodded. “I’ll add in a trip to the florist to my list.” She chuckled. “And I’ll let you know what happens.” She tapped the side of her nose, and walked off.
Izzy took the stairs slowly, hoping to glimpse the new neighbour. The door next to Feathers’ was closed, and she disappeared inside her own flat, the faint sounds of a jazzy saxophone seeping through the floorboards.
“Connor?” she called out as she closed the door.
“Hi Mum,” he replied from the kitchen.
“Try not to drink all this in the next twenty-four hours, okay?” she said, bending down to put the milk in the fridge.
Connor sat at the table, an array of ingredients set out before him.
“Why aren’t you fat?” Izzy asked.
Connor shrugged, and spread peanut butter on a slice of bread. He sandwiched it, cut it in half and pushed it to the side. He got out another slice, and unwrapped the cheese.
“Maybe you’ll grow.” Izzy snatched one of the sandwiches.
“Hey!”
“Mum tax.” She took a bite. “Want to come on my rounds?”
“I’ve got homework,” he said, and cut the cheddar. “Think I’ll stay.”
“Okay. Later.”
Izzy drove slowly past the van, once again peeking in the back. There seemed to be fewer boxes. He must have been up and down the stairs while she chatted to Connor. Funny how life could be a series of mistimed events.
Some of Izzy’s clients had caravans on the coast. One had a cottage on an unpronounceable hill in Wales. Another had poorly parents who required regular visits. Today, she needed to visit a retir ed and dedicated traveller-by-coach, for a key pick-up.
“Hello, Izzy,” Mrs Grey said. Her name suited her. A shrunken old lady with hair a dark
She didn’t hear the roar booming out of the woods. A deep-throated snarl and a high-pitched yelp intermingled. Then, the final scream of a fox floated though the open bedroom window. Izzy muttered in her sleep and rolled over. Silence retook the night.
Chapter 8
20th July
Izzy drove towards the flats, and pulled up alongside the back end of a hire van. One of the back doors swung on its hinges, exposing the pile of brown moving boxes inside. Flicking the indicator, she turned into the next space and peered in the window. A badly folded map covered the dashboard. Acrumpled pack of cigarettes lay on the chair, and the footwell lay ankle deep in discarded food cartons. With no one in the drivers seat to welcome, she grabbed a bag with milk and bread out of the boot and locked up. Before she got to the main entrance, Cathy opened the door.
“What’s all that about?” Izzy thumbed over her shoulder at the van.
“Didn’t you hear? Someone’s moving into the studio flat next to Feathers. It’s been for rent for a while, you know,” Cathy said.
“Have you met them?” Izzy leaned forward and dropped her voice to a suitable gossiping whisper.
“Not a couple, just a man, and I only saw the back of him. Wait around long enough, and I’m sure he’ll be down for some more boxes.” She suppressed a laugh. “Bet he’s another gay. Gilbert’ll be knocking on his door once he finds out he’s there alone.”
“How can you be so certain he’s on his own?” Izzy switched the milk to the other hand, and glanced at the rental.
Cathy thought for a couple of seconds, then said, “I guess I don’t. But he’s not got much. If he had a girlfriend – or a boyfriend for that matter, there’d be more boxes.”
“Could be she’s minding their child while he’s doing the hard work,” Izzy countered.
“Again, not enough stuff. Kids come with more things than their parents.” Cathy sneaked a quick glance up the stairwell. “I still think he’ll turn out to be gay.”
Izzy laughed. “Well, bring him a welcome bunch of flowers. Remember to take notes on how he accepts them.”
“Good idea.” Cathy nodded. “I’ll add in a trip to the florist to my list.” She chuckled. “And I’ll let you know what happens.” She tapped the side of her nose, and walked off.
Izzy took the stairs slowly, hoping to glimpse the new neighbour. The door next to Feathers’ was closed, and she disappeared inside her own flat, the faint sounds of a jazzy saxophone seeping through the floorboards.
“Connor?” she called out as she closed the door.
“Hi Mum,” he replied from the kitchen.
“Try not to drink all this in the next twenty-four hours, okay?” she said, bending down to put the milk in the fridge.
Connor sat at the table, an array of ingredients set out before him.
“Why aren’t you fat?” Izzy asked.
Connor shrugged, and spread peanut butter on a slice of bread. He sandwiched it, cut it in half and pushed it to the side. He got out another slice, and unwrapped the cheese.
“Maybe you’ll grow.” Izzy snatched one of the sandwiches.
“Hey!”
“Mum tax.” She took a bite. “Want to come on my rounds?”
“I’ve got homework,” he said, and cut the cheddar. “Think I’ll stay.”
“Okay. Later.”
Izzy drove slowly past the van, once again peeking in the back. There seemed to be fewer boxes. He must have been up and down the stairs while she chatted to Connor. Funny how life could be a series of mistimed events.
Some of Izzy’s clients had caravans on the coast. One had a cottage on an unpronounceable hill in Wales. Another had poorly parents who required regular visits. Today, she needed to visit a retir ed and dedicated traveller-by-coach, for a key pick-up.
“Hello, Izzy,” Mrs Grey said. Her name suited her. A shrunken old lady with hair a dark
Similar Books
