His big sister sounded disapproving and delighted all at the same time, while Jamie wandered over to the sink and started washing his hands methodically with a bar of soap.
Karen realised she was still standing in the doorway, bag in hand, coat on.
‘Sorry, the kids were bored and charging around a bit, and the guy from the middle flat was banging on the wall so I came up to calm the situation down, and they were hungry so I made pancakes. Hope you don’t mind… ’ Tam looked awkward now, shuffling from foot to foot. ‘OK, I should get going now that your mum’s here. I’ve probably ruined your dinner with the pancake feast.’
The familiar looks of disappointment returned to her children’s faces, and Karen dug deep inside herself for a reaction that would help.
‘No, stay. Let me get my coat off and we can see what to do after that. Sorry, you all took me by surprise.’
Squeals of delight met this announcement from Jack, while Sarah bent forward to awkwardly hug her mother and Jamie carried on washing his hands.
‘Dad is coming to pick us up at nine; we’re going to France on a day trip tomorrow with him and his new girlfriend, so we have to be up really early. It’s inset day at school so we have the day off. I can cook supper if you like; I’ve learned how to do spaghetti bolognaise.’
Sarah’s young face was eager, looking for approval, already wearing the shadow of the serious, earnest woman Karen had grown into. A flicker of recognition that there must be more to life than work, resistant as she had become to the idea, ignited dimly in Karen’s brain, and she hung her coat on the rack and smiled at her daughter.
‘Great! Spaghetti it is. I don’t think we have the ingredients, so you might have to go to the shop.’
‘No problem, I can go to the Co-op. I need mince, Dolmio sauce, some garlic and the spaghetti. Ten pounds will be plenty and I could get Coke and ice cream for the boys if you like.’
Karen was about to embark on a lecture about balanced meals and the dangers of sugar but she met Tam’s eye, and saw that he was waiting for her reaction.
‘Great, yes, get ice cream and Coke … and the spaghetti ingredients.’ Karen put down her bag, and let her daughter squeeze her before she ran out of the door. The boys were around her legs and she was led, and pulled, towards the sofa to watch cartoons. She looked at her watch – 6.20 – and tried to do a mental approximation of how long she had before the children would be collected. She had seen people hyperventilate before and she could now understand why. Jack climbed on to her lap, and Jamie sat on the end. Tam chose this moment to put a whisky and water into her hand.
Karen sipped, and tried to remember a situation where she had been this close to her children since they were babies. Jack was twirling one of her curls round and round his finger now and making a noise like an aeroplane, while Jamie kicked the table in front of them rhythmically. The panic in her eyes must have been visible to Tam as he lifted his glass and mouthed cheers.
‘Hey, boys, come over here, I bet I can beat you at arm-wrestling.’
Karen relaxed as Jack jumped down and ran to the table, and she sat at a safe distance keeping score for them in the battle which Tam was letting him win. She knew that mothers were important, empirically, and she knew that she had become distant and remote from her children, but images of Nick, alone downstairs, were already creeping into her mind. She sipped on her whisky, and smiled at Jack, who was now fully engaged with Tam. It didn’t come naturally to her, smiling, and Karen wondered how she could be so good at analysing patients and compiling data, but no good at showing her feelings or developing her relationships with her own offspring. She often comforted herself by reading about successful historical characters in science or even the arts. Their personal lives were always difficult; perhaps that was what it took to make breakthroughs.
Sarah came back, and asked for a big pan for the spaghetti. Karen didn’t have one, and Tam was dispatched to find one. Boiling water, a splash of olive oil and some salt. The spaghetti went in, everyone laughing at Sarah’s bravery around the hob and steam, and oohing and aahing at the miracle of spaghetti softening from stiff to soft as it made contact with the water. Karen watched Jack go up on his tiptoes trying to see what was happening, before Tam scooped him up and lifted him high enough to watch.
Sarah showed them how to brown mince, then when it was cooked she poured in the sauce from the can. Karen watched her as she lapped up the claps from her brother and the high five from Tam. She drained the end of her whisky, and patted Sarah on the back. The rhythmic kicking of the coffee table carried on behind them, but was lost in the general hubbub.
They were still scraping the bottom of the ice-cream container when there was a ring on the bell. For the first time ever, the children seemed disappointed that their father had arrived. Tam buzzed him up and Karen bit her lip to stop herself from saying something as her life was taken over. She preferred him to wait in the car, but he arrived at the door, and looked genuinely pleased as the children all talked at once, spaghetti sauce was wiped off mouths, and the three of them all hugged their mother and thanked Tam, who ruffled their hair and did up their coats.
‘Come on, Jamie, up you get, we’re going. Thanks, Karen.’
Jamie got up and went back over to the sink. He had certainly taken the ‘wash your hands’ rule to heart, Karen thought. Tam shut the door two minutes later, while the children shouted up the stairs and Karen shouted back from above. She stood in the hallway as Tam came up behind her and put his arms round her gently.
It was too much. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her neck. Sex had always been a release, a physical tension built up in her, but all it meant tonight was that there was going to be even less time left for writing. She had very little sexual tension left after the unexpected encounters with Tam this week, but she was grateful that he had been good to the children.
With the hugs of her children still warm, the softer tone of her husband still in her ears, and Tam’s arms round her, she could still feel nothing.
She allowed herself to be led to the bed, undressed, and when the time came she kissed Tam back. As soon as she could feel he was ready, she pulled him between her legs and concentrated all her efforts on making him come as quickly as she could. It worked, and when he had finished, groaning from deep in his chest, he kissed her gently on the forehead, staring into her eyes and gently pushing a stray curl away from her mouth. Karen wondered whether he could tell that no one was home, and that the only face she could see was Nick’s.
10 | Tam
‘I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?’
— Ernest Hemingway
Wednesday morning
Six a.m., for fuck’s sake. Tam rolled over. He had woken up with a hard-on, and the scent of Karen was still fresh on her sheets. She must have got up to go to the bathroom. He called her name, and in the distance he heard the door slam. That moron from the middle flat.
He had lain dead to the world for the last nine hours, but was still feeling a bit rough around the edges from the whisky the night before. He rubbed his eyes. She wasn’t here. It was a tiny flat and he was pretty sure he would have heard some sign of movement or ablutions by now. He crawled to the edge of the bed, pulled back the curtain and looked out on to the path and the road. Nick was scurrying away from the house, darting from left to right like a gecko. He smiled to himself. Why Karen would take so much of her time obsessing over someone like that was beyond him. It had been a good evening. Chilled, relaxed, and Karen’s kids were pretty nice when you got to know them. He’d never wanted to be a dad, but it felt strangely good having a positive influence over children who had already been potty-trained and weaned by someone else and who seemed polite and up for a bit of arm-wrestling. He had even imagined taking them out for a pint when they got older, but he was getting ahead of himself. It had just been a relief to have a normal evening and see Karen semi-relaxed. He had begun to think she did nothing but wo
rk and fuck like a hooker.
Even the dad seemed to have calmed down a bit since their first encounter on the path outside. Tam would probably have been less than amused to be left with three kids to raise if he had been in his shoes; it wasn’t natural.
His train of thought was interrupted by the door slamming again, and he looked up to see Karen, fully dressed, hovering in the doorway, then scurrying down the path after Nick. What the fuck was she doing? Following him? She didn’t get in her car, and Nick was clearly visible in front of her, on the straight pavement, heading for the corner and the bus stop. That boy must wonder why he always had someone behind him who looked vaguely familiar. To be two minutes behind him Karen must have been poised, waiting for him to leave. The image of her on the landing the day before popped into his mind.
Women – what was the cliché? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Well, he would see her later, and at least they were finally getting somewhere after a failed start. Tam had been on his own a long time, and had never been great at commitment, so this was a good and unfamiliar feeling. He gathered up his things, which seemed to be scattered across Karen’s flat, and went into the shower. He came out smelling flowery but clean, pulled on his clothes and went downstairs. He thought about tidying up but decided that might look as if he assumed they were a couple, so he threw the ice-cream container away and went downstairs.
He plugged his phone in and looked at his messages. One from Danny at the Met, yesterday, and one from Karen this morning. Tam clicked on voicemail.
Morning, it’s Karen, your neighbour. I’ve gone to work. I wanted to apologise for last night. I will talk to the children and make sure they don’t bother you again. Thank you for looking after them but it really wasn’t necessary. I have a lot of work on and they come to my house to do homework, so I would appreciate it if you could respect that. I’ll see you some time…
Her voice trailed off, and was gone. Tam was annoyed at himself for feeling as if he had been kicked in the gut. That was it, his guard was going back up where that schizo was concerned and it wasn’t coming back down. ‘Fuck her, seriously – no, actually … note to self, don’t fuck her ever again,’ he muttered to himself. He made himself a coffee and sat staring at morning television. Homes Under the Hammer was actually making him feel like moving. He didn’t want to pass her on the stairs every day. Those poor kids, he thought to himself: she’s a cold-hearted bitch and they deserve better.
The realisation that he was upset enough by her curt voicemail to revert back into a life of takeaways and whisky coincided with a news report. There they were again, the couple in the park. The guy had died the day before, and the girl had suffered ‘life-changing injuries’, which didn’t sound pleasant.
Tam took a deep breath, shook Karen out of his head, and dialled Danny’s number. ‘Hi, mate, sorry I didn’t call you back yesterday. Do you fancy a drink after work today?’
Tam had decided that trying to do the right thing was seriously overrated. He arranged to meet Danny at 5.30 p.m., lay down, pulled the duvet over his head and went back to sleep.
When he opened his eyes it was four in the afternoon and he thought about shaving. Instead he opened the freezer, took out the frozen cat, picked up the bag of clothing he had found in the bins, and put the lot into one of those bags that stopped things melting when you shopped in Iceland. It was a chilly day, so he would be fine as long as the sun didn’t get any stronger. He texted Danny that he would come past the office, he needed to ask a favour. They arranged to meet outside, which was a relief. Tam couldn’t have taken a re-run of his last visit to the politically correct hotbed of police affairs.
So it was that at 5.30 on the dot a crumpled-looking Danny, in a zip-up fleece which expanded comfortably over his paunch, took possession of the ‘forensic evidence’ as Tam liked to think of it, from the bins outside the house.
‘I’m just going to nip these upstairs, mate, and put the cat in the cold room. Normally if someone turned up here with a frozen pussy I’d make a joke and tell them to fuck off, but as it’s you and you have the best nose for trouble I’ve ever come across I’ll make an exception. I don’t need to tell you that we already have a big issue with the chain of evidence: this stuff has been in a bin, then in your flat, now here. What do you think it’s going to prove?’
‘I’ll explain it all to you in the pub. Just get it safely tagged and logged and I’ll give you the whole story. I have a hunch.’
‘Say no more – your spidey sense has always been good. I’ll be back in ten minutes.’
Tam waited two, and then headed to the pub. He texted Danny the immortal words, ‘At the Albert. I’ll get the drinks in.’ He felt almost like a copper again.
Danny was twenty-five minutes. By the time he arrived, Tam was on his second pint. It had been intended for Danny, so he got another round in.
‘You’re drinking fast. I can’t keep up with you.’
The blonde barmaid behind the bar seemed to be looking in his direction every time he glanced her way and Tam smiled ruefully, picked up the two empty glasses and headed towards her.
‘I haven’t seen you in here before,’ she said. ‘Your friend’s a regular. Sweet guy – think he needs a girlfriend, or a mum or someone to do his washing? You ready for another drink?’
‘Long week, and I need to blow some cobwebs away – and by the way my sweet friend has a wife and a kid; he just prefers the pub. As for me, give me another drink, it might help me relax.’
She smiled at him, leant forward just a little too much, put her hand on his and said, ‘Let me know if you need any help with that.’
Tam sat back down and began to explain to Danny about the weird guy who lived above him, and the neat letters in the hall, and the clock, and the bag of clothes in the bin, and finally the cat. Danny was looking doubtful. Telling the story out loud, even Tam began to see that it sounded like the ramblings of a bored policeman with too much time on his hands.
‘It’s not my area, of course, mate, but let’s see if the blood is in the system or even if it’s human – might be the best way to start. I don’t know what I can do with the cat. Let’s just keep it in the freezer for now. I think I’ll just get one for the road.’
‘Don’t worry, mate, you’re doing me a favour, let me get the beers.’
Tam knew blokes were supposed to be heartless bastards, but he was the one who had behaved well with Karen and she’d been the bitch. If she didn’t want him, then the best way to get over her was to get on top of someone else. Wasn’t that what real men did?
‘Two pints of IPA, please, love, and a drink for you. Sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘It’s Molly. Thanks, I’ll have a gin and slimline. Don’t suppose you’re at a loose end later? I get off in half an hour.’
She managed to make almost everything she said sound sexually charged, and Tam felt himself getting turned on. ‘I’ll walk you home if you like.’
Molly smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, please. I hope I can trust you to behave.’
She giggled, and Tam was torn between leaving the pub and trying to sort things out with Karen, and staying. He decided to stick to his guns; he was flogging a dead horse with Karen, she obviously wasn’t interested, but he was also painfully aware that Molly’s giggle was probably a clue to just how noisy she would be if they ended up in bed, and he felt exhausted just at the thought. His body clearly disagreed with him, and he pulled his jumper down before he picked up the pints and walked back to the table.
‘Looks like you’re in there, mate. I envy you, footloose and fancy free. Bloody hell, how old do you think she is? Can’t be more than twenty-two, you lucky sod. Look at those tits.’
Tam had been looking; they were so pert and bouncy that it seemed impolite not to, and every time Molly pulled a pint they took on a life of their own, like blancmange when you carried it to the table, not that he had seen that for years. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen twenty-t
wo-year-old breasts for years either. Tam sighed. He had tried grown-up life, however briefly. Now he would go back to cheap Pinot Grigio and faked enthusiasm for the evening. He hoped she didn’t live in a flatshare. Shared bathrooms, now that would be depressing, but it was better than taking her back to his place to bump into Karen, judging and looking at him like a failure.
‘Your phone’s ringing.’
Tam picked it up, a little spark of hope igniting that he could just go home, put on the television, Karen would knock at the door, say sorry or even act like nothing had happened and they could cuddle up on the sofa, but it wasn’t her number. He picked up. ‘Hello, Tam speaking.’
‘Hello, my name is Marta, I am a cleaner and I see your postcard in the shop window.’
‘Oh, yeah, hi. I need someone for four hours twice weekly. Actually I’m in a pub at the moment; can I speak to you later?’
‘Yes, I speak to you later.’
Tam couldn’t hear properly, and her accent was pronounced. He’d sort it out in the morning. He said cheers and hung up. He was achieving a few things now. The evidence was delivered and it would be nice to come home to a clean flat twice a week. If he was going to get into freelance work or a new routine, he needed order to be maintained on the home front. For now, though, home seemed the least attractive option. If he was going with Molly, she’d better get a move on. He was on his fifth pint and now he was less worried about any squealing Molly might be doing later and more worried about not falling asleep. He needed to get the thought of Karen, and for some reason her kids, out of his head, and if he drank any more he would be lucky if he got it up at all.
An hour later, he was lying on his back with Molly on top of him, facing away so his eyes were on her back and her impressively curvy bottom. The experience was somewhere between painful and sexually exciting. She must go to the gym a lot; her inner thigh muscles were really strong, and every time she plunged back down he wanted to shout, ‘Gently!’ This was probably the position that fractured guys’ penises, and he concentrated on getting it over with.
The Man on the Middle Floor Page 13