Page 6

“Can I get you a drink or anything?”

“Cuppa, would be grand, thank you sweetheart.” His last word repulses me in a way that is hard to hide. His goons stand motionless, he never goes anywhere without at least two of them. Usually one smart enough to drive and operate a sat nav, and one dumb enough to take a bullet.

“What’s happened, Harry?” I push again

“Dan has gotten himself into just a spot of bother with some other inmates. He’s fine, he’s being looked after. But it means I’ve got a favour to ask you”

Oh here we go, here we fucking go. What’s going into my cavities to get it inside Belmarsh. I don’t want to go to prison with a burner phone in my fanny.

“Of course, what do you need?” I ask, putting his cuppa in front of him

“The less I tell you the better, really. But I’m going to need to hide someone for a couple of days - max. It’ll be late tonight, just look after him, keep him here for a bit, and then we’ll get him gone when the heat dies down”

“You want someone to stay… here?” I ask, stunned with confusion, of all the things I thought he might ask me to do, that just hadn’t appeared on the list

“Is there something wrong with that?” he asks

“I just… I don’t know if I’m comfortable…” I try an uneasy smile

“Comfortable? Oh sweetheart, we don’t want to make you uncomfortable do we? Sorry I just thought that this big comfortable house…”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Harry honestly, I just don’t think Dan…”

Fuck. I’ve lit the fuse. Oh shit. I watch the colour drain from his eyes. He takes a mouthful of tea, clears his throat, and off he goes. The warmth dropping from his voice immediately.

“I didn’t ask you what you think, I asked you, very fucking politely, to do me a favour while you’re living in the house that I am fucking paying for!” and he stands with such force that the dining chair falls over behind him as he marches towards me, pinning me to the countertop with his body, causing me to drop my cup. He doesn’t flinch as it smashes on the floor.

His hand grabs my face, squeezing my jaw, in almost a whisper he continues “So why don’t you let me do the thinking, you do as you’re fucking told, or earn your keep some other way… what you think I won’t put you out to work? Grow up, sweetheart”

“…. o… okay, I’ll do it”

And straight back to Dr Jekyll with a smile and a warm voice, his grip releasing. “There’s a good girl, we’re all just trying to help each other out. We’re family” he checks his watch “ooft, is that the time? Sorry love, gotta run, busy day. Dan sends his love” he forces a kiss on my cheek that presses too hard, and last too long. His goons follow his over-confident strides out the door.

Hearing his car pull away I stay still for a moment. I don’t think. I don’t feel. I just take a minute before bending down to start picking up pieces of mug from the floor. Until a sharp splinter sticks right into my finger. Bastard.

I pull the shard out, and drop it on the floor. I watch the tiny drop of blood form and sigh. I’m too sober for this. I grab a spliff from the drawer and go to sit in the conservatory and listen to the rain before the spiral can begin. I’m just along for the ride now.

As the calm swirls between me and the rainwater running along the glass, my mind takes me on a journey of ideas. Maybe it’s an escaped convict, or a mass murderer. Very sexist of me to assume it’s a he, did Harry say, “he”?

What heat is Harry expecting? He’s always been shady, but not quite like that. If it weren’t for this rapidly shrinking spliff I would be spiralling at an absolute rate of knots. Instead I’m mellow and contemplating what possible combinations of cunt could be apparently temporarily living with me from tonight.

Some context would be brilliant, to be honest. Am I expecting a police raid or a drive-by? Because they require very different preparations… Neither of which am I in absolutely any way capable of handling. But it would be nice to know.

With a sigh of foreboding resignation I do what I do best. Handle the thing I can. Dustpan and brush, and a tantrum’s smashed mug. I’m not touching the broken pieces this time because I swear if I cut myself one more time I’m going to give up on the day and go sleep in the attic.

My obsession with understanding the who and why of my new houseguest is really redundant, I realise. It makes no difference. Could be a saint, could be a slasher, could be a stalker, could be a war criminal. I still wouldn’t be able to change whether or not he stayed here or whether I had literally any choice whatsoever. It’s probably not some innocent family fleeing violence, that feels all too charitable. Though definitely something I’d be comfortable with, harbouring vulnerable women and babies for sure.

Don’t worry, Harry babes, it’s not like it’s my house or my life or my fucking safety eh, as long as I do what I’m told. I’m sure you have my best interests at heart and know me better than I do. I roll my eyes and go to make up the spare bedroom.

Four

Sawyer

I did the only logical thing and sat down with a drink and put Netflix on. Trying to sigh out the debilitating anxiety and anticipation of whatever was going to happen tonight. Maybe I’m going to end up on one of those documentaries. Still feeling the calming high from my cheeky puff, I slip into an uneasy nap on the sofa.

My heart stops and my ears perk at the bing from my doorbell app, immediately followed by the sound of keys in my front door. I freeze to the spot, night has fallen, and I’m shrouded in darkness. I can hear the door quietly lock behind them, urgent whispers, and then chairs moving in the kitchen. Stifled, pained groans fill the next few moments as something very heavy seemingly slams on the table. My heart is in my throat. It’s them. I strain my ears to hear what’s going on, and it sounds like they’re breaking just about everything in my kitchen.

Over the shouts I hear firm instructions cutting through the chaos. “Drink… bite…” one of the voices instructs, and then a throaty, agonised growl from someone else follows. Some other noises I just can’t make out before curiosity gets the better of me. I silently stalk to the doorway between the living room and kitchen, leaning on the doorframe I watch with equal parts morbid curiosity and crippling fear, trying to take in the scene.