by Nem Rowan
"This happened seven months ago. Which means Wallace Reed must have still been living there. I say we go down by there and take a look ourselves," he declared, sounding quite as though he had already made up his mind.
"Uh, when did I agree to go playing detective with you?" I wrinkled my nose and stepped away, intending to return to the window sill.
"So what are you gonna do instead? Sit around yere doing nothing while I figure this out?"
I turned to look at him, knowing full well I was being a brat and deciding it was better to stop. The sooner we found this jerk, the better.
"All right. But I ain't walking all the way to Bath Road in this weather," I bargained, and he nodded as he pulled on his coat. He slipped his hand in his pocket and took out some keys, jangling them at me enthusiastically.
I was glad that Mecky had kindly washed my trainers and coat—she had cleaned my other clothes, too—so I didn't feel disgusting putting them on over the ones I had borrowed from Ceri. I didn't feel as though Ceri would be put off being so close to me now, either. I looked at him apprehensively when he took me downstairs to the back of the shop where a tiny white car was parked in the courtyard, a sheet thrown over the top of it to keep off the frost.
"Don't make a face. I'll drive safely, promise." he grinned at me as he pulled the sheet off and unlocked the passenger door.
"I don't care so much about you driving safely. I'm practically immortal, anyway..." I replied, having to yank the door open abruptly since it was near enough frozen shut.
He climbed into the driver's seat beside me and after shutting his door, he switched the engine on, both of us shuddering with the cold as our breath plumed from our nostrils and we waited for the car to heat up. I glanced at him sideways and he smiled at me reassuringly.
Ice crunched under the tyres as the car moved forward under the shelter of the narrow side passage that opened up onto the street, and as we emerged on the other side, the road was fairly busy so we had to wait for a chance to pull out. As soon as we roared off onto the asphalt, I realised I had forgotten to put on my seatbelt, so I leaned forward and did it; it seemed pointless, but I had to keep up the facade of being human. Vehicles whipped past us as we weaved through the traffic; exhaust fumes steamed in the air, clouds of white billowing around us as the car zipped through each junction and sped along the bustling roads. It wasn't a long journey to our destination, thankfully. He took us off the main road and parked the car on one of the small side streets.
"Come on, it's just round the corner." He nodded at me as he climbed out onto the icy pavement.
I stepped out into the snowy air, which only increased my shivering, so I had to zip my coat right up to my chin. We walked side by side, his hands deep in his pockets and my nose glowing with the sudden cold. We were on Bath Road, one of the longest main roads in the city, and as it was the middle of the day, the traffic was sporadic, and a few people were walking with shopping bags and dogs on leashes. We were close to the park and I could smell the ripe stink of dog shit and discarded cigarette butts. Ceri was on the lookout, his eyes peering at everything, his head turning when we passed each person and each building; I found myself imitating him, but I had no idea what I was looking for.
"When we get there, just let me do the talking, all right? Don't say anything except for pleasantries," he told me as we paused at a crossing, cars speeding past while we waited for the lights to change. "If anyone asks, you're just my friend, not a friend of Wallace's."
"You almost make it sound like I would be fibbing when in actual fact, that's complete truth." I arched an eyebrow as I looked up at him.
"Well, it's not a fib, no. But I don't want you blowing my cover when I'm trying to get some info out of the receptionists." He shrugged, and I rolled my eyes as we crossed to the other side of the road.
"All right Columbo, I'll behave," I grumbled. I covered my mouth with my icy hand and blew on it, but it didn't make a lot of difference.
The apartment block was built facing the park and the upper stories would have had a good view of the grassy hills and the trees beyond. It was a modern construction, pale yellow walls and large windows, all metal and concrete and very little taste or class; a small parking lot took up the space outside and it was crammed with people's cars so we cut through the middle and headed straight to the entrance door. Ceri went in first and held the door open for me, and I followed him into the echoing foyer, my shoes squeaking on the freshly-buffed floor. To the right there was an elevator, before us there was another door leading to a stairwell, and to the left was a tiny counter and the open door to an office behind it. Ceri glanced at me, brows raised as he bit at his lip again, and I shrugged in response.
"Hello?" he called over the counter.
The owl-like face of a man peered round the edge of the doorway, his eyes staring at us warily and there was some hushed conversation, then a rather plump, middle-aged woman shuffled out to greet us. Her neatly straightened hair was so immaculate that it was shaped like the stick-on wigs for Lego figures and she was wearing one of those long, floaty blouses over a wavy skirt.
"Hello, are you visitors?" she inquired. She looked first at Ceri, and then at me with a thinly-veiled stare of distaste.
"Yes, I called up earlier about my friend, Wallace Reed?" Ceri sounded shockingly gentlemanly when he replied to her. I couldn't help but stare at him when he spoke; he tamped down his Welsh accent and put on the air of someone much higher in class than he actually was. It made me feel sick because I had never made an effort to conceal my common Bristolian accent, but I knew he was just doing it to be persuasive.
"Oh! Yes, I do recall. Sorry I wasn't able to give you any addresses over the phone; that sort of information is sensitive," she apologised as she laughed, but she didn't sound sorry.
I rolled my eyes, struggling to hold my tongue.
"No, no, I understand; that's why I've come down yere to see you in person. You see, it's very important that I reach Wallace. He'd be devastated if we had the funeral without him." Ceri leaned against the counter as he gazed at the woman imploringly.
I got the feeling something else was at play here. The way their eyes kept connecting; the way Ceri kept breathing deeply and holding his lungs taut as though absorbing every molecule of oxygen before he breathed out again. His scent had changed, and I could feel the hairs on my body were prickling, as though there was static in the air.
"Well, I'm afraid I still can't hand out this kind of information, but I can point you in his direction?" she offered as she tore a sheet of paper off a notepad and took up a pen. "As far as we're aware, he was moved to Barton Hill flats, you know the ones..."
"I know the ones," I replied quickly while Ceri frowned, not seeming to guess where she meant.
"Yes, you know Ashmead House?" the woman nodded enthusiastically as she turned her smile towards me instead.
"Yeah, I do," I murmured. A little too well.
"Wait just a second, you said he was moved, as in he didn't move of his own accord?" Ceri interrupted curiously.
"Oh—well, as far as I'm aware, the council gave him a flat there," the woman stuttered suddenly, and it did nothing to get rid of Ceri's inquisitive stare.
"Was he renting privately here or was he a council placement?" he pressed her further.
"He was placed by the council a year or two back. I don't know exactly when, but he was living here when I started work here. So as I say, a year or two. I don't know," she fought to blurt the words out quickly as though Ceri was holding a knife under her chin.
"Okay. Well, thank you for your help." He let the pressure off, and she visibly relaxed.
I caught her gaze as we turned towards the door; she looked shaken and sweat was creating a shiny sheen on her forehead. All Ceri had done was speak to her and yet she was left in a state like she had been slapped about under interrogation. I followed Ceri into the carpark, aware of the urgency in his steps and knowing he wanted to head straight to Barton Hil
l.
"Leon, you said you knew where Ashmead House is?" he asked as we walked briskly back along the main road.
"Yeah—hey, wait a second, can you slow down? You're practically jogging," I reached out to grab his shoulder, only to cry out when a spark of static snapped at my palm as soon as it touched him. "Jesus Christ! You fucking shocked me!"
"Sorry." He chuckled as he slowed to walk beside me, watching as I squeezed my hand in a disgruntled fashion. "I guess I'm one of those jacks who always picks up static."
"Whatever. Look, I don't know if I really wanna go back to Ashmead House. Can't it wait?" I murmured. I stared at the pavement as we walked, reluctant to say anything more.
"I'd rather get this done now. Wallace ain't going to wait for us, is he," he reasoned, and although I could tell he had picked up on my reluctance, he chose not to prod me.
"I'm cold, and I want something to eat. And it's freezing out here," I grumbled.
"We can pop in a café on the way there and I'll get you something, all right?" he coaxed gently as we stopped at the crossing again.
"Fine. But I don't know how you're gonna search for him there when there are dozens of flats."
"I've got a werewolf yere with me. You can sniff him out; you can do that, can't you?" he smirked, and I slapped him on the arm. This time he didn't give me a shock.
"I'm not a sniffer dog, you cheeky git!"
Five
Returning to the high rise flats I had grown up in was like going back in a time machine, and although I didn't voice my feelings, Ceri seemed to pick up on my discomfort as we crossed the road and approached the frost-stricken lawns that now mapped the ground below the cluster of council-owned towers. Everything looked so different now; neat rows of terraced houses had sprung up along the narrow streets and the local shops had had a makeover. Everything had been tarted up and modernised, a far cry from the estate I remembered, but even so, no amount of fresh paint or new windows could cover the familiar shapes of those grotty, old tower blocks.
As we wandered slowly along the paths that mapped the grounds, we passed little old ladies shuffling by with their trolleys and tall Muslim women in their flowing black gowns; a group of young boys kicked a football around against one of the towers' external walls, and two teen girls pushed their respective prams along the path, saying thanks as we stepped aside to allow them passage. I tilted my head back and looked up at the block of flats, squinting as I spied the windows of the flat I had grown up in and I wondered who lived there now, if they knew of all the fights that had happened there between me and my step-father.
"Spotted something already?" Ceri inquired as he attempted to follow my gaze, but I turned my head abruptly, looking him straight in the eye.
"No," I retorted, frowning and continuing along the path.
"What were you looking at?" he questioned as he walked alongside me, but I just stuffed my hand in my pocket and pretended I hadn't heard. When I didn't answer, he repeated his question and I looked at him sharply.
"If you must know, I lived here once." I grunted.
"Oh, really?" he was surprised. "Why didn't you say so? Is that why you were so quiet in the café when I tried to talk to you about it?"
"You seem to forget, Ceri, that we don't know each other all that well, and I am perfectly entitled to my own secrets," I grumbled.
"I know, there's no need to have a tantrum. I just thought it seemed odd that you wouldn't bring it up, is all," he said as we stopped on the concrete courtyard near one of the entrances.
"Like I said, I need my privacy. So what now?" I waved my hand about and gestured to the space around us.
"Well, have a sniff around. See if you can pick up his scent," he suggested, which only made me scoff at him.
"I'm not a dog." I frowned at him, my hand on my hip.
He raised his eyebrows amusedly and pulled a miniature notepad out of his pocket, biting one of his gloves off to expose his fingers to the chill air and flipping through the pages until he found the right one.
"Then we'll do it the old-fashioned way," he decided. "You can stay by yere if you want but I'm gonna go ask a few people if they know him. I'll be back now in a moment."
"Fine. But I at least want a fag if you're gonna make me stand around here in the bloody freezing cold." I caught him before he could escape by grabbing him by the pocket of his coat, and he watched as I took out his cigarette tin. I popped the lid off and he took out one his roll-ups, placing it gently between my lips and lighting it for me with his lighter.
"There, happy?" he asked, and I nodded, sighing as I puffed a waft of acrid smoke through my nostrils.
"You can fuck off now," I dismissed him.
He made a wry grin at me, his eyes watching me from over his shoulder as he turned and headed off in the direction of the boys that were playing football nearby. I grinned back, a prickling of excitement rising within. I liked that smile of his, even if it had chewing tobacco stuck in it. I lifted the cigarette and sucked on it deeply, my chest rising and falling as I blew the smoke out through my teeth. Being back here was causing all sorts of uncomfortable memories to return, and the sooner we got out of here, the better. The boys had stopped their game and grouped around Ceri, listening to him talk as he pointed to the tower block behind, some of them shaking their heads and others nodding. I flicked some ash on the ground and watched it melt into the liquid ice that covered the concrete.
"Leon?" a creaky voice spoke behind me, and I turned swiftly, looking around for the source of the sound, but there was no one there.
I caught a whiff of floral perfume and cat fur, and then looked down to find a stooped Indian granny standing there behind me. She must have come out of the door seconds ago, but I had been so far away with my reminiscing that I hadn't noticed. She was gazing up at me with large, almond-shaped eyes, her crinkled face like a dried-up raisin and her enormous spectacles propped on her button nose. Her hair, which had been dark and silken in her youth, was grey and pulled back in an incredibly long plait that hung over one shoulder of her beige anorak. Her legs were hidden by the two curtains of her royal purple trousers, her small shoes peeking out from underneath.
"I said Leon, is that you?" she inquired again, and I covered my mouth in amazement.
"Mrs Patel!" I gasped, astonished that the old bird was still standing. She had been ancient when I was a little boy, so how old did that make her now? Surely she was nearly a hundred.
"I thought it was you, I always recognised you from the way you stand like that," she chuckled, the wrinkles around her eyes creasing up and causing them to become narrow slits as she smiled up at me. "I thought you moved away? It's been a long time since I saw you here."
"I did, Mrs Patel. I did... move away..." I trailed off, realising that she didn't know. Or perhaps she did, and she was more forgiving than others.
"How's yer mum nowadays? You know I haven't seen her in years either, did you she move with you?" she asked, ever so politely, and that made it hard to correct her.
"No, she's dead, sweetheart. My mum died a long time ago," I reminded her and for a moment she just blinked, before slowly nodding her head. "It was just me and Pete what lived here."
"Oh yes, sorry about that, love. Sorry." she patted me on my arm gently.
"Here, sorry to change the subject, but have you seen a bloke about who went by the name Wallace Reed?" I asked, even though it was probably a longshot. If she didn't remember mum being dead, she might not have remembered if he existed. She continued to peer at me as I described him, and she rubbed at her chin with her nail-bitten fingertips.
"Well... No. Oh, hang on... Maybe. White chap, quite tall. Dressed all posh, like. In a suit," she replied, and I nodded quickly. "Oh, well, I haven't seen him for awhile either."
"But he did live here? Do you know which number?" I pressed her anxiously, having to take another drag on my cigarette to try and ease my nervousness.
"It was up on the higher floors. I know he got into
a bit of trouble, but I don't really know what happened. Why, is he a friend of yours?" she asked naively and at first, I shook my head, but then I quickly nodded again.
"Yeah, I'm just looking for him," I agreed.
"Okay. Well, I'll be off now, I've got some shopping to do." She smiled at me and turned to go. "Glad to see you well, Leon. Send my love to Pete."
"I...will..." I murmured as she moved off along the path, my face quirking with the strained expression it had twisted into.
Hearing Pete's name spoken aloud was like a key to an even uglier Pandora's Box that I had buried in a deep grave, in the dankest, darkest recess of my mind where it had lain dormant for many years. As I watched Mrs Patel ambling towards the road on the other side of the lawn, I could hear Pete's droning voice complaining, an echo from a past that had left me fighting my way to survive. He had been a fat, greasy slob that always wore Rovers football t-shirts and tracksuit bottoms, and he only saw the shower once a week because his smell became so offensive that people wouldn't sit near him on the bus.
I never understood what my mother had seen in him, but I suppose that before she passed away, he had been quite tidy and slim. He looked very different when he died to how he had looked when she had first introduced me to him at the age of eleven, a sturdy, rough-looking man in a high-visibility jacket and steel-toecap boots. I had taken an instant dislike to him, because in my mind he would never replace my real dad. I had never known him, but as a kid, there was a spot reserved for him if he ever came back.
Mum and dad had separated when I was a baby. I had a twin, but he had died in the womb, so I had never known him. I guess dad wasn't able to handle the loss and so he left us, left the city, perhaps even the country, since she had no idea where he had gone and when he had walked out the door with his suitcase, that had been the last time she had seen him. As far as I was aware, he was still out there somewhere, but I had no desire to search for him. I didn't even have a photograph so I didn't know what he looked like. We could walk past each other in the street and I wouldn't know. Still, as the years had gone by, I came to realise that he hadn't been there for me as a child so why would he be there for me as an adult? Even Pete had done a better job, at least he'd been present.