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.
Six
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
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.
Six
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
Similar Books
