Read Online The Last Girl by Stephan Collishaw - Free Book Online Page A

setting out their stalls of amber trinkets to sell to the tourists, and students wandered to the university. I peered into the darkness of the café. The window was dirty and I could see little through it. The doors were locked and would not shift an inch when I tried them. I sighed and pressed my nose against them, banging as loudly as I could with my fist.
    â€˜There something you want?’ A voice from behind startled me. I turned. A man with a heavily scarred face stood on the pavement holding a broom in his hand.
    â€˜I’m looking for the cleaner here,’ I explained.
    â€˜Oh yes?’ the man grunted. He cocked his head sideways as he spoke to me, as though he had difficulty hearing me through his left ear.
    â€˜Do you know him?’ I asked. ‘His name is Jonas.’
    â€˜Might do,’ the man said, looking shifty. ‘Depends.’
    Not wanting to explain my business to a stranger I was a little annoyed at the man’s obtuse approach.
    â€˜What does it depend on?’ I asked sharply.
    He shifted his broom from one hand to the other and wiped his brow with his sleeve. He leaned closer and I could smell his foul breath. I leaned away slightly. ‘It depends on what you’re wanting him for.’
    One of his eyes strayed around a little loosely while the other pinned me suspiciously.
    â€˜When I was here a couple of nights ago,’ I said, ‘I left a bag behind. I asked the staff last night, but they said that this Jonas would be the one who picked it up.’
    He nodded. ‘Well, that’ll be me you’re wanting then.’ He looked up into the sky, thoughtfully. ‘A bag, you say.’ He rubbed a thick finger along the heavy scar across his cheek. ‘What kind of a bag might it have been?’ His eye fixed me again.
    â€˜It was a plastic bag. Just an ordinary bag, one of these new supermarket ones. It had some papers inside. A whole lot of paper.’
    The eye did not leave me now. He seemed to be considering whether I was joking. He breathed his foul breath over me, edging a little closer. ‘You’re telling me you’re looking for a plastic bag full of paper?’ he said. ‘Paper?’
    â€˜It was important,’ I said impatiently, not wanting to have to go into a full-scale explanation. ‘They were documents,’ I said, pronouncing the word with great gravity.
    â€˜Oh, ah,’ he said, fingering the scar again. ‘ Nu , well, if they were documents, then I understand,’ he said. ‘Documents,’ he repeated to himself, savouring the word. ‘ Nu , so they were documents that have gone missing, eh? Well!’
    I waited, hoping his ruminations were leading somewhere. ‘So?’ I asked finally. ‘Did you find them?’
    He was startled by the aggression with which I spoke to him. He stepped back, wiping his hands on his dirty jacket. ‘Did I find your documents? Well, I don’t know if l did. What night did you say it was?’
    I told him.
    â€˜No, no,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A plastic bag you say? No, I don’t think so. But wait.’ A thought struck him. He looked around to see that nobody was listening. He leaned forward, forcing me further back into the doorway. ‘There was a bag the other day,’ he whispered, conspiratorially. My heart leaped. Noticing my joy he seemed heartened. He nodded his head enthusiastically. ‘Yes, yes, there was one,’ he said, excited. He gripped my arm. ‘Wait!’ And he held up one of his spade-like fingers. He turned and disappeared around the side of the building. I followed him.
    A short dark alley-way led around the side of the café. The alley-way gave out onto a small courtyard. On the left of the courtyard bins overflowed outside the back door of the café. Wooden walkways sagged around the second floor of the bare brick buildings. The courtyard was cobbled. Weeds and grass grew