at them with some envy; she would have preferred to live in one of those houses, but they were considerably more expensive than the houses on their street, which backed onto estates of cheap council housing. She was now and again astounded how radically the scenery of the same neigbourhood could change. Just a few metres further down, turning left along Regentâs Canal, the houses became more and more squalid. Nelson Place was a narrow street, flanked by shabby council flats, only a few feet long but always littered with beer cans and junk, smelling of pee as if it was an open urinal. Once someone had dumped a mattress, leaving it there to rot.
At night Claire avoided walking there on her own. She would go via City Road, which was better lit and busier, even though it was a detour and took five minutes longer. But during the day and on her scooter she didnât think it dangerous. As it was a one-way street and most of the time empty, Claire always accelerated to get through this bleak bit as quickly as possible.
A dog was scratching at the door of one of the flats, barking its heart out. But Claire didnât pay any attention. She was thinking of the strange coincidence that Mrs Ross possessed the same necklace as Sadie, when suddenly five or six children dashed out from a side alley into the street, shouting and howling, their arms stretched out, deliberately blocking her way.
She was forced to brake suddenly, before swivelling around, cursing. âGet out of the way, dammit!â she shouted. But they only jeered louder, showing her the finger. For a few seconds she lost balance, the creaking tyres leaving a long black mark behind. When she finally brought the scooter to a halt the children were gone. It was only when she was back in the house that she noticed she was shaking and her knees were weak and wobbly. The children probably came from the flats of Nelson Place or from one of the towers off City Road. It was somehow disturbing to know they were so close by, and maybe even knew where she lived. The neighbour opposite had his scooter secured to a tree with a massive chainlock, which until now she had thought excessively cautious. But maybe he had good reason.
Preparing dinner, Claire could hear Anthony coming down the street, recognising the distinctive sound his soles made on the pavement. His steps came closer quickly. He always walked fast. From Canary Wharf to Angel it took him just over 30 minutes when the tube was running smoothly, and five minutes from Angel, walking down City Road to Remington Street. She was relieved to hear the reassuring sound of his key turning in the door.
Following his invariable routine, he kicked off his shoes as soon he was inside and threw his Mandarina Duck working bag onto the sofa in the living room â the monotonous structure of day-to-day life, like the good bye and hello kiss on the cheek, the after-dinner cigarette or the sound of water filling a bath. After all that had happened, Claire listened to these noises like a consoling rhyme.
As soon as he entered the kitchen she hugged him boisterously as if she hadnât seen him for ages, pressing her lips against his. However, from a stiffness in his movements she could tell at once he wasnât in a particularly good mood. Pouring himself a glass of Pinot Grigio, he mumbled something about his boss giving him a hard time. He never smoked before dinner and she was surprised to see him light a cigarette. Leaning back in the chair, pivoting on two legs, he blew smoke towards the ceiling. He closed his eyes and told her in a dark voice how the head of the department had summoned him to his office. Apparently he had projected the quarterly earnings of a pharmaceutical company much too positively and his mistake had lost the bank £600,000.
Claire looked at him. £600,000 was what their house cost. âWill you be fired?â she asked.
âNo, but if it happens again I will be. Of course it
At night Claire avoided walking there on her own. She would go via City Road, which was better lit and busier, even though it was a detour and took five minutes longer. But during the day and on her scooter she didnât think it dangerous. As it was a one-way street and most of the time empty, Claire always accelerated to get through this bleak bit as quickly as possible.
A dog was scratching at the door of one of the flats, barking its heart out. But Claire didnât pay any attention. She was thinking of the strange coincidence that Mrs Ross possessed the same necklace as Sadie, when suddenly five or six children dashed out from a side alley into the street, shouting and howling, their arms stretched out, deliberately blocking her way.
She was forced to brake suddenly, before swivelling around, cursing. âGet out of the way, dammit!â she shouted. But they only jeered louder, showing her the finger. For a few seconds she lost balance, the creaking tyres leaving a long black mark behind. When she finally brought the scooter to a halt the children were gone. It was only when she was back in the house that she noticed she was shaking and her knees were weak and wobbly. The children probably came from the flats of Nelson Place or from one of the towers off City Road. It was somehow disturbing to know they were so close by, and maybe even knew where she lived. The neighbour opposite had his scooter secured to a tree with a massive chainlock, which until now she had thought excessively cautious. But maybe he had good reason.
Preparing dinner, Claire could hear Anthony coming down the street, recognising the distinctive sound his soles made on the pavement. His steps came closer quickly. He always walked fast. From Canary Wharf to Angel it took him just over 30 minutes when the tube was running smoothly, and five minutes from Angel, walking down City Road to Remington Street. She was relieved to hear the reassuring sound of his key turning in the door.
Following his invariable routine, he kicked off his shoes as soon he was inside and threw his Mandarina Duck working bag onto the sofa in the living room â the monotonous structure of day-to-day life, like the good bye and hello kiss on the cheek, the after-dinner cigarette or the sound of water filling a bath. After all that had happened, Claire listened to these noises like a consoling rhyme.
As soon as he entered the kitchen she hugged him boisterously as if she hadnât seen him for ages, pressing her lips against his. However, from a stiffness in his movements she could tell at once he wasnât in a particularly good mood. Pouring himself a glass of Pinot Grigio, he mumbled something about his boss giving him a hard time. He never smoked before dinner and she was surprised to see him light a cigarette. Leaning back in the chair, pivoting on two legs, he blew smoke towards the ceiling. He closed his eyes and told her in a dark voice how the head of the department had summoned him to his office. Apparently he had projected the quarterly earnings of a pharmaceutical company much too positively and his mistake had lost the bank £600,000.
Claire looked at him. £600,000 was what their house cost. âWill you be fired?â she asked.
âNo, but if it happens again I will be. Of course it
Similar Books
