The Man on the Middle Floor

by Elizabeth S. Moore

  Fifteen rings. It was like torture, surely Mother should know that. Ring ring, it started again and it felt unbearable. My elbows were really itching now and the little bumps on my arms felt enormous. I could be developing stress hives; my blood pressure was probably very high. I thought if Mother was ringing this often perhaps it was an emergency. Grandpa could be dead, which might mean I would never be a proper man because he hadn’t finished showing me everything, but I did think I might be calmer if he wasn’t visiting. I couldn’t think of any other emergencies that would need this many phone calls. I covered my ears with my hands. It had to stop now, it was driving me mad.

  From behind me I heard a miaow.

  I walked over to the phone and for a moment I considered smashing it on the wall, but I knew that would upset Mother so I didn’t. Usually I was coping, I was coping just fine.

  I picked up the phone and I listened. Nothing. I waited and then said, ‘Hello?’

  A voice I had never heard said hello back and before I could say wrong number I heard my name. The day was getting worse and worse and I listened to see what they were ringing to say, on my tiptoes, in my smelly flat.

  ‘Is that Nick?’

  ‘Yes, this is Nick.’

  ‘Hi, this is Karen Watson, your neighbour from upstairs.’

  I knew I was supposed to say something but I didn’t. I had never had a day like this, never. Mother said to me sometimes, ‘I am speechless’. I knew what she meant, and felt myself backing up until the wall was behind me. I leant on it.

  ‘I saw your note, downstairs.’

  She paused. I said nothing, trying to work out what she meant, and then I realised, I had put up a note. It was my note. I couldn’t deal with this today but I tried to be polite. It was on my list.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re looking for work and I might be able to help. I work at University Hospital and some of my colleagues in the mortuary are looking for an assistant.’

  I wanted this conversation to end. I waited, but she wasn’t going away.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Her voice was a bit sharp, like my mother when she was talking to Grandpa. I leant harder against the wall.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t worry; if you’re at home I could drop by and tell you more about it.’

  ‘I can’t, I have a lot on, I’ve just got a cat.’

  ‘That’s nice. Are you still looking for work, though?’

  I wanted to say no but for some reason I said yes because it would be wrong to lie. I can keep secrets, Grandpa had taught me that was alright and sometimes it was the right thing to do for your own good, but I can’t lie. I tried to think of a way to get her not to come, but she was talking all by herself and the end of what she said was that she was coming to my flat.

  I put the handset down and sat down on the sofa next to the cat. I felt like passing out. The room was blurry from me nearly crying. It was a mess. There were things everywhere and I didn’t know where they belonged. I needed help.

  The cat seemed to want things from me that I didn’t enjoy. There might be something wrong with it, as I hadn’t read anything anywhere about cats being this demanding. It tapped me with its paws, and scratched the sofa and started to walk around sniffing the air curiously. It started running as if it was chasing something across the floor but nothing was there. It even chased its own tail. It didn’t listen to any instructions to stop or slow down and in between the running it would lie down for a little while and do the mobile phone noise. It was crazy, and full of energy. It ran around everywhere, pulling, pushing, making noises and making me feel out of control. Then it pooed again, in the tray. The flat smell was enough to put me off fish for ever. How could one tiny kitten make this much waste? I went to the toilet every morning myself, but this was ridiculous. I grabbed it and put it back in its travel box. Then I took it to the bathroom and closed the door. I couldn’t breathe. I put the tray outside the window on the window sill and closed the window. The flat still smelt of cat and fish. I thought I’d better call Grandpa and tell him how hard I found it. I tried to remember what Mother had said: A kitten is company, a friend, sweet, cute.

  I hadn’t seen any of that yet.

  I sat back down, put the television on, but in the broken world I had wandered into today the first thing I saw was a picture of the park and the two people who had been doing disgusting things by the lake. I turned it off. Quickly. Sweat was running off me, and the cat was still in its basket in the bathroom. I opened the door and lifted it out, put it next to the wall and opened the leather straps.

  That was when I heard a knock on the door. I tried to flatten myself against the wall, tripped over the cat basket, and the pile of books on the shelf above hit the floor with a bang. She knew I was in here. The kitten miaowed and I thought I might scream, something I never did, but which had already happened once this week with Grandpa. I didn’t scream, though; instead I stood still.

  My neighbour pushed the letterbox open, and shouted in, ‘Nick, it’s Karen, your neighbour.’

  ‘It’s not a good time at all at the moment.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t keep you, I just wanted to say hi and give you some information about the job. Also, I love kittens.’

  I thought carefully about what to do. I didn’t want Grandpa or Mother to know I wasn’t coping, but she didn’t know either of them so she wouldn’t tell. She was a doctor, so she wouldn’t be lying. She had a job. I needed work. I walked towards the door and slowly pressed the handle up and then down, which is how you open that door.

  I wiped the sweat off my face but I only opened the door a little bit to start with, so that I could see her. She looked as grey as ever to me. This time she was drenched from the rain and she made some remark about how she hated umbrellas. She didn’t look me in the eye, which was a relief, and I tried to stick to the list in another way: make conversation.

  ‘Umbrellas can be practical,’ I pointed out.

  She was taking out a bunch of papers from her Asda bag, which I could see had the University Hospital logo on it. I knew it was their logo because it said the name underneath the curly UH.

  ‘So, about this job. When would you be available to start? They are very keen to get someone in as soon as possible.’

  I thought about it, then I remembered my mother saying, one thing at a time, Nick, so I asked her, ‘Do you want a cat?’

  This stopped her talking in the middle of her sentence and she frowned. ‘Your new cat? Didn’t you say you just got the cat?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like it. It’s under the sofa but I don’t want to get it out because it scratched me earlier, it makes a mess everywhere and it has too much energy. It’s called Tabby, you can have it, I will get it.’

  She laughed, and I didn’t, and then she started talking again, but she came into my flat, past me, her coat dripping on the floor and her hair flopping in front of her face. She went into the living room without asking.

  ‘You can have all the stuff, the bed, the tray, the food, all of it,’ I said. ‘I can have a job but I can’t have a cat and a job and I think a job is better.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, cats are very independent. You can leave Tabby here in the day, with some food and his tray. He’s probably just nervous. I love cats, but I can’t have one, I sometimes work all night, at the hospital.’

  She reached under the sofa and pulled the cat out. You aren’t really supposed to do that because kittens can’t retract their claws and they could be ripped out of their paws which I didn’t want to see, but I didn’t really care about Tabby so I didn’t tell her that.

  Karen sat down on the sofa. I started to put the cat’s things into a bag.

  ‘Nick, I can’t take the cat. I wish I could. I will ask around and see if I know anyone who wants one. Do you want to hear about the job? It’s in the hospital where I work, in a place called the morgue. It’s the place where they keep bodies when people die in the hospi
tal or on their way to the hospital. Do you mind dead bodies? Are you scared of them?’

  I didn’t know why anyone would be scared of dead bodies. Did they have germs? What if they had been ill and you got their illness?

  ‘I don’t think I am scared of dead bodies. Can you get germs from them?’

  ‘No, Nick, it’s sterile, you wash the bodies with surgical gloves on, and it’s cold. They are kept in fridges and it’s just a big science lab really. I just wanted to check, but you will be able to tell really quickly if it is too much for you.’

  ‘I think it will be a good job for me if it’s clean and in a hospital.’

  I was going to have to find a solution to the cat, but I could think about that when Karen had gone. I just wanted to be on my own. My arms were wrapped round my middle, and I had sweat running down my back. I needed to stay calm or Karen would think I wasn’t coping and change her mind about the job. This was too much pressure.

  ‘How many hours a week do you think you could work, Nick? I could give you a lift in until you are used to it, and they will show you the ropes? It’s from eight until twelve-thirty Monday to Thursday to start with, and you can do a week’s trial, would that be good? Just part-time.’

  ‘Part-time, yes, that’s good. I have things to do every day of the week so that way I could still fit them in.’

  I felt fine every time I thought about the job. It was a big step but I wanted to do it. It was time for Karen to go now.

  ‘You will be responsible for washing the bodies, preparing them for their families to come and say goodbye, wheeling people down from the wards to the morgue, assisting with autopsies, whatever is needed. I have a job description form here, and you should look it over so you know what you will be doing. I can come back when you have signed this confidentiality form to pick it up, and I’ll bring the contract.’

  I didn’t want her to visit every day of the weekend so I made a decision.

  ‘I will sign it now, and I can start on Monday if you want me to. I just need you to go now, and not come back today. I have things to do.’

  I had said it, out loud, and I picked up the paper, and Karen showed me where to sign, and I signed and she left. I sat by the window trying not to look at the dirty cat tray outside in the rain, and tried to think what to do next.

  I decided to lie on the bed and close my eyes. I tried to make some sense of the last four days but I just felt fear and panic and wanted to run away, from the pictures in my head, from the mess and the smell and the kitten who had now seen that I had moved and climbed up the side of the base then the mattress with its claws and started to knead the pillow. It wouldn’t leave me alone.

  I got up and went to the computer, I needed to calm down. I googled ‘pure girls’ then clicked images; I had decided not to watch videos ever again. The problem was, for me, that I liked the girls lying in cornfields, or on beaches with plaits, but it was hard to resist wanting to see them moving. I was looking at a girl in a gingham dress when suddenly a message popped up between her parted legs, flashing at me.

  DO YOU WANT TO FUCK ME? I AM ONLY TWO MILES AWAY.

  This was the final straw, and I was up on my tiptoes, hands twisted, trying to make it go away. How did she know where I was? How did she know who I was? I banged at the keyboard with my fist and sat back down, desperate now just to stop the images and the flashing sign. Just as I found Control Alt Delete, Tabby jumped and attached himself to my leg, through my trousers. I tried to pull him off, while the picture of the girl called Meg in her pretty dress carried on asking me the same question. Her perfect little breasts and the skirt which just covered her panties mixed up with the pain in my leg and my worries about the germs on my trousers.

  My head was starting to spin and there were whole sequences of unrelated images playing in my brain that I didn’t want there. I realised I was sobbing. The pressure in my head was making the floor vibrate, my eyes pulsating behind my eyelids.

  Sweat was trickling down my forehead again. I hated sweat and I needed a shower. It was all because of the cat. It was on a campaign to make my life hell. My nostrils were full of the new smell of the flat, everything was out of place, there was cat equipment everywhere, strangers were turning up at my door and my life was on the television. I couldn’t cope and Grandpa would see that next Wednesday and tell mother and she would make me move back to her house, and Grandpa would have to correct me then, for my own good.

  I wanted to say it out loud, I CAN’T COPE WITH THIS CAT, but I didn’t. Instead I paced up and down my living room saying, ‘Right decisions, I must make them.’ It was something I had seen on a documentary on BBC2. It didn’t help.

  The miaowing was getting louder, or my ears were getting more sensitive. The cat seemed to have a built-in megaphone. I really, really wanted it to be quiet. I told it to be quiet one last time, then I picked it up to put it in the bathroom for the night. It wasn’t the way you are supposed to pick up a cat, I knew that from the website. I picked it up underneath its head and put my thumb on its throat to make it be quiet. It worked. Under the fur its bones and its neck were tiny, and I could feel gulping as I pressed my thumb in further. I just needed a minute to think. Peace.

  I sat on the sofa holding Tabby out in front of me, and its little feet jumped around a bit. It was trying to scratch me. Then its neck went click in my fingers and it went completely still. I picked up its sleeping cushion with the other hand and lay Tabby on it. He was quiet, and calm. The rain had stopped and I watched people and cats coming and going while I sat with my pet, keeping each other company. The phone didn’t ring, and no one came to the door. I took off all my clothes and put them into another bin bag. If I kept on going through clothes like this Mother would not be happy. I would have to get back in control. It was sensible that my clothes all might get worn out at once, though; they were the same age because she bought them all at the same time. I left the bin bag of clothes next to the pile of cat equipment, except the litter tray which I left outside the window for now, and added all the printing I had done on kittens to the bag. I didn’t tie it up because I was going to put Tabby in there before I left in the morning. I went into the bathroom, then I had a long hot shower.

  Tabby was still on his cushion and I decided I liked him better like this, he was nicer. Perhaps working with dead people wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I carried him to the bed and got into my pyjamas, and lay in my usual position. I fell asleep next to him, thinking about the job, and my still, calm kitten, that I now liked very much.

  6 | Karen

  ‘I put my heart and my soul into my work, and lost my mind in the process.’

  — Vincent van Gogh

  Saturday morning

  Karen lay in bed and thought about the past few days. She felt satisfied and as if her normally uneventful life was taking on a new dimension. She had woken up yesterday to the sound of her neighbour closing her flat door, and realised that she had spent the whole night sleeping next to him. That was new. She hadn’t had any sort of physical contact with a man for over two years, and when she had it had always been at his place or an anonymous hotel. Now she found herself living under the same roof as a man she had spent the night with, which could make her life more complicated but at least Charlie couldn’t call her a dried-up old spinster and be completely right any more. Friday had disappeared as she worked out how best to incorporate Nick into her study. She had worked from home, not even getting dressed, and now she had a plan. It might be Saturday but there would be someone at the hospital morgue, there always was. People didn’t die on schedule and she wanted to take Nick’s forms there as quickly as she could before they gave the job to someone else. This was so much more exciting than her night with Tam, as she had discovered her night-time companion was called. Nick could be the guinea pig she had been searching for to complete her thesis. Diagnostically, as far as she could tell so far, he sat exactly on the line between functional and non-contributory, and Karen’s passion was to get thos
e individuals into society, working, studying, living a useful life.

  She jumped out of bed, showered and dressed. Nick’s forms were in her handbag and she was filled with a new sense of purpose. At the bottom of the Asda carrier she always used to transport work papers she had a little stub of lipstick that had absorbed tissue and crumbs, but now she stood in front of the mirror, dipped her little finger into it and smeared it on to her lips and her cheeks. She would feel a little bit better if she saw Tam on the way out now. She decided not to tie her hair up; it looked wild and she shook her head gently. A little woolly and streaked with grey but, she thought, less severe. She headed downstairs with the hint of a smile on her face. She would show everyone. She would be vindicated and Nick would be the catalyst of her redemption. She could see Charlie’s face when he had to apologise, and her children congratulating her, while Nick worked happily and successfully at a job that he would never have got without her and she won the respect of family and friends with her brilliant thesis and important work.

  One flight of stairs down and she passed Nick’s door, hesitated, then knocked.

  ‘Nick?’

  There was no answer from inside, not even the faint miaowing of the kitten. He must have popped out. She needed to make firm arrangements for Monday. Perhaps they could go in together – once she had retrieved her car and filled it with petrol. She felt slightly more benevolent towards the human race this morning; although she understood that what she had shared with Tam was purely a one-night stand, for some reason she still felt less judgemental towards the shortcomings of others. Perhaps it was the release of sexual tension; she must remember how useful it was going forward.

  She opened the front door, and her mood descended from what were the heights of joy for Karen to instant misery. Her ex-husband was standing outside leaning against her car, arms crossed and an expression on his face which slowed Karen’s pace almost into reverse.