Read Online Plastic by Christopher Fowler - Free Book Online

the second.
    ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t do it,’ I dithered. ‘I wouldn’t want to upset him.’ I was beginning to wish I hadn’t called, but as the auctioneers had taken away most of the furniture, including our bed, there was nowhere to sleep except on the floor of the lounge in Lou’s son’s sleeping bag, which smelled of wasted youth and stale dope. I needed time to figure out a future for myself, and I had one long weekend in which to do it.
    ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll tell him you’re very responsible, but you’d better make sure everything’s exactly as you found it afterwards. He’s been holding back the flight tickets, threatening not to go. I was going to give this to Lou, but she’s gone to a Botox party.’ She produced an envelope from her bag. ‘She’s not trying to get rid of wrinkles, she just wants to look less annoyed. Okay, hand this to Madame Funes, the concierge, and she’ll let you have the apartment key, it’s just a single Yale. She won’t be there when you leave, so Malcolm needs you to return it to his safety deposit box by midnight on Sunday night. It’s near the flat; the address is in the letter.’
    ‘How does that work?’
    ‘It’s like a bank deposit ATM, except that it’s on a timer. You just post the envelope. You can stay until Sunday night, the power should be back on by then, and you can just pull the front door shut behind you when you leave. I don’t suppose the TV or the lights will work, but there are plenty of candles, and the central heating should be on because it’s gas. The fridge has already been emptied. The phone isn’t connected yet and you’ll find you have to go to the end of the ground floor corridor to get reception on your mobile, so it should be a peaceful, relaxing weekend.’
    ‘I just want a place to think things through,’ I assured her.
    ‘It’ll be like a retreat, but in the heart of the city. There’s a very good spa nearby if you want to book yourself in for a facial.’ I chose not to tell Julie that such luxuries were now beyond my pocket.
    Julie pulled several squashed Post-It notes from her jacket pocket and sorted through them. She explained that she couldn’t sleep at night without making lists for the next day, and that her state of hypertension was caused by consuming nothing in the past eighteen hours except a glass of lemon-juice, two Carr’s water biscuits and a diet pill. She was so desperate to please Malcolm that she didn’t realise how disturbing it was for other people to watch her eyes shimmering on amphetamines.
    ‘The main thing to remember,’ she said, consulting her notes, ‘is to tell Madame Funes if you’re going out. The keypad to the main entrance will be affected by the building works, which is why Malcolm’s so reluctant to leave. He’s convinced the place is being watched by every burglar in London. He’d go mad if anything went missing.’
    She flicked through to another note. ‘Our flight gets into Heathrow first thing on Monday morning, so he’ll probably go straight to work and come by the flat in the evening.’ Her mouth set itself in a lipless line. ‘We’re leaving first thing the day after tomorrow. That gives me three days to convince him about the divorce. I mean, if she’s going around telling people they’re trying for a baby, she’s obviously mental. He’s got a high pressure job, he can’t afford to have an unstable wife.’ She flicked the marble back in her mouth and rattled it against whitened teeth.
    On Friday afternoon I packed the absurdly large suitcase my husband had thoughtfully left out for me, and posted my house keys back through the letter box as I left, more as gesture of independence than practicality. I stood at the end of the leaf-stickered front garden and looked up at the house in which I had spent the last ten years of my life. Bare rooms showed beyond unlit windows, just as they had on the day we’d arrived. They appeared smaller, as though they were