The Driver

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘My pleasure.’ The man turned the cup around and passed it to him. ‘I take it you’re the new tenant?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Joe extended his hand. ‘Joe.’

  ‘Phillip Kettler,’ the man replied formally. ‘I live next door. Thirty years now,’ he added, as if for some reason he thought that Joe would be interested.

  ‘That’s a long time,’ Joe said, taking a sip of the tea. It was weak and had no sugar in it – just the way he hated it.

  ‘Boy to man,’ Kettler affirmed proudly. ‘Lived here with my dad until he passed on last year, but now it’s just me. Not like it used to be, though.’

  ‘No?’ Joe peered at him questioningly over the rim of the cup.

  ‘Used to be a lot of families,’ Kettler told him, flicking a furtive glance along the landing before adding, ‘but it’s mainly singles now. Lot of foreigners.’

  ‘I see,’ Joe murmured non-committally. Then, deliberately changing the subject: ‘Any good pubs round here?’

  Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Kettler said, ‘Well, I don’t personally drink, but Dad used to quite like The Crown. I wouldn’t recommend any of the others, though. Too many of them.’

  Joe didn’t even need to guess what he meant by that.

  Un-fucking-believable, he thought in disgust. Talk about laying your cards out from the off!

  He forced himself to finish the tea and handed the cup back, eager to get rid of the man before anyone saw them talking and assumed they were friends. Then, stepping forward so that Kettler had no choice but to back up, he said, ‘Best get on. Removals van should be here in a minute.’

  Still hovering, Kettler said, ‘Oh, right. I see. Well, give me a knock if you need any help. That’s me.’ He waved his hand to indicate the door to the left. ‘Just come round when you’re ready.’

  ‘Will do,’ Joe lied, wishing that Kettler would just piss off and stop staring at him like that. It was starting to creep him out.

  ‘Any time,’ Kettler persisted. ‘Any time at all. I’m always available.’

  Joe’s mobile began to ring. Mentally thanking whoever it was for rescuing him, he glanced at the name on the screen and smiled. ‘Talk of the devil, that’s them now,’ he said, back-kicking an obstructing box up the hall and closing the door in Kettler’s face.

  Rushing back into his own flat, Kettler put the empty cup down and snatched up a glass. Pressing it carefully up against the dividing wall, he held his breath and listened.

  ‘Not yet,’ Joe was saying, his voice just about audible. ‘But I’ve not long got here so you’re going to have to give me a bit of time to suss out what’s what.’ Laughing at something the other person must have said, he said, ‘Yeah, will do. Talk to you later.’

  Frowning when his new neighbour stopped talking and started whistling, Kettler put the glass down and reached for his notepad. Flipping it open at a fresh page, he jotted down the date and time. Then:

  New resident Number 312: Joe – no surname given. White. Approx 25–30. Occupation – not yet known, if any. To be watched.

  Cheryl set off to take Frankie to the playgroup at nine. Tilting the pram back to pull it over the doorstep, she looked round to see who was coming out when the lift clanked to a noisy halt behind her. Seeing Molly struggling to get her walking frame over the lip where it hadn’t stopped quite level with the floor she closed her door and went to help her.

  ‘You are a good girl,’ Molly puffed, clutching at the door to haul her overweight body out into the corridor. ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve reported this to the council but they never do nothing about it. Be the flaming death of me, it will.’

  ‘They’re terrible, aren’t they,’ Cheryl agreed, going back for the pram to walk outside with her. ‘I’ve been telling them about the rats for ages but they’ve still not put traps down. It’s them idiots from upstairs chucking their rubbish down that’s doing it, but—’

  ‘I’m off to the centre for my weekly bingo fix,’ Molly cut her off. ‘Hope in hell’s chance of winning but they put a nice spread on, you’ve got to give them that. And it doesn’t cost me anything, so I can’t complain.’

  Oh, sorry, was I boring you? Cheryl thought.

  ‘That’s nice,’ she said, pushing the pram out into the rain and holding the door.

  ‘Don’t like the look of that,’ Molly muttered as she stopped in the middle of the doorway and peered out. ‘It’ll proper mess me hair up, that.’

  Wishing that she’d either hurry up and come out or go back in, Cheryl smiled when she caught a glimpse of Joe sheltering in the bin cupboard beside the door.

  ‘Not lost your keys already, have you?’ she called.

  Leaning forward, Joe shook his head and blew on his icy hands. ‘Nah. Still waiting for the van. Should have been here ages ago, but that’s what you get for doing it on the cheap, eh?’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Clanging her walker against the door, Molly craned her neck to have a nosy.

  ‘New neighbour,’ Cheryl told her, introducing them as Joe leaned further out of his hole. ‘Joe, this is Molly. Molly, Joe.’

  ‘Ooh, hello, handsome,’ Molly cooed, holding out her hand. ‘Come here and let me get a better look at you.’

  Joe gave Cheryl a hooded look as he approached, unsure whether the old lady was expecting him to kiss her hand or shake it. He opted for the shake.

  ‘I’m eighty-seven,’ Molly informed him flirtatiously. ‘But how old would you have thought I was if I hadn’t told you, eh?’

  A little alarmed by the drawn-on eyebrows and poppy-red lipstick, Joe shrugged. ‘I’m, er, not sure. Sixty?’

  ‘You fibber!’ Cackling with delight, Molly gave him a playful slap on the shoulder.

  Exchanging an amused look with Joe, Cheryl said, ‘Well, that’s her day made. You’ll have a friend for life now.’

  A car turned into the parking lot just then. Spotting who was at the wheel as it pulled into a space, Molly nudged Cheryl and nodded towards it. Glancing over, the smile slid from Cheryl’s lips when she saw that it was Shay and his tart of a girlfriend.

  ‘I’m off,’ she muttered, stamping down on the pram brake to release it. ‘See you later, Molly. Bye, Joe.’

  She started to walk away but it was too late. Shay was already out of the car and striding towards her, the girl tottering along behind on clippety heels.

  ‘What you playing at?’ Shay demanded. ‘It’s pouring down and you’ve got my son outside without a cover. Are you off your head, or what?’

  Cheryl gritted her teeth and her eyes flashed with anger when Shay’s girlfriend squatted down to coo at Frankie. Jerking the pram away, she said, ‘I was about to put it over, actually.’ Then, yanking the plastic cover down, she stalked away with her nose in the air.

  ‘See what happens if he gets a cold!’ Shay yelled after her. Sucking his teeth when she ignored him, he shouldered past Joe and pushed his girl in through the door.

  Joe gave Molly a questioning look. ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘He’s Cheryl’s ex,’ she explained in a whisper. ‘She caught him having it away with the other one a few months back and kicked him out, so he upped and moved in with her.’

  ‘Here?’ Joe grimaced. ‘Bit cold, isn’t it?’

  ‘As ice,’ Molly agreed. ‘And now poor Cheryl’s got to put up with them swanning about like love’s young dream. Hardly ever visits his lad, neither,’ she added disapprovingly. ‘Unless you count the times he has a barney with her.’ She jerked her head back to indicate that she was referring to the new one. ‘Scuttles round fast enough then, all right. But I doubt he sees the lad while he’s there – if you know what I mean.’

  Joe shook his head. He didn’t even know Cheryl but already he felt sorry for her.

  ‘Ooh, here’s my ride,’ said Molly, waving when she spotted the minibus turning in off the road. ‘Give us a hand, would you, luvvie?’

  Joe helped her aboard and waved her off. But just as he was about to head back into th
e shelter of the bin cupboard the removals van turned up.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ he demanded, looking pointedly at his watch as he strode towards it.

  ‘Sorry, cocker, I ’ad a flat,’ the driver lied, wiping bacon-butty crumbs and ketchup off his chin. ‘You’ll have to guide us while I back it up to the door. Someone’s nicked me mirror.’

  ‘At the café?’ Joe asked. Shaking his head when the man gave him a blank look, he said, ‘Forget it. Just hurry up. I’ve got things to do.’

  3

  Up on the fourth floor Katya stepped wearily down off the chair she had been standing on. She’d been watching the man who had smiled at them earlier, wondering what he, the girl with the pram and the old lady had been talking about. It was impossible to hear any of their words from up here, but whatever it had been about she envied them their freedom to chat so easily. It had been a long time since she had been free to talk to a stranger without it involving money or swear words.

  They had all gone now and the car park was deserted, leaving Katya with nothing more to watch. Not that she had seen all that much anyway, because it was difficult to see detail through the metal grilles that Eddie had fitted to the insides of the windows. She didn’t know if he’d done this to keep anyone from seeing in or to stop the girls from flinging themselves out, but either way it really heightened the sensation of being in a prison. That, and the front door, which was so secure that it would be impossible for anyone to save them if there was a fire and Eddie wasn’t on hand to let them out.

  Katya jumped when she heard a bang out in the corridor and rushed to put the chair back under the table, scared that it might be Eddie on his way in. If he realised what she’d been doing he’d be bound to think she had been signalling to somebody and then he would cover the windows completely, leaving them in absolute darkness.

  She was nervous now, and when she was nervous she got clumsy. Banging into the corner of the table, she bit her lip to keep the cry of pain inside and lifted her skirt to examine her already bruised thigh. Eddie had kicked her so hard this morning he’d left the imprint of his trainer behind and the pattern of its tread stood out in white welts against the purpling background. It looked bad and felt worse, but at least he’d only kicked her. Poor Hanna had been kicked and punched for daring to come back with just forty pounds.

  The other girls were in their beds in the next room. They had fallen asleep as easily as they always did, exhausted by the events of the night they had just survived – and in need of regeneration for the new one they would be facing in a few short hours. Katya envied them their ability to switch off so completely but her own eyes had refused to stay shut when she’d closed them. And while she would usually have lain there until sleep came, her mind was too unsettled today.

  Giving up after a while, she’d got up to wander around the flat, her head full of thoughts that she didn’t want to think: fading memories of a better life in a better place that hurt almost as much as the reality she found herself in. Katya had tried to distract herself by watching people go about their business on the outside but that had made it worse, because they were free and she was not. She was a slave to the horrible man who had brought them here and put them to work on the streets, on the understanding that they could leave as soon as they had paid him back what they owed.

  But how could they ever pay him back when half of whatever they earned went towards paying off the interest he’d heaped on, and the other half was classed as rent for this place?

  Rent!

  As if staying here was a voluntary arrangement; as if they were tenants, not prisoners, and Eddie was a landlord, not a vicious pimp.

  This was not the life that she and the others had imagined they would be living when they came here, and she totally understood why Hanna was falling apart. And even, to a degree, why Tasha had allowed it to embitter her so. But Katya refused to allow her own spirit to be crushed. Her parents would be worried sick by now, wondering why she hadn’t been in touch. And if the price of eventually being free to see them again was to do things that made her feel dirty and ashamed, then she would just have to be strong and get on with it.

  4

  The flat was smaller than Joe had initially thought so it felt cramped once all his stuff was in, even though he’d tried to keep things to a bare minimum. There was also a smell of damp that wouldn’t shift no matter how much bleach and air-freshener he used; and the single-glazed windows let all the heat out and all the noise in, so he couldn’t escape the thunder of traffic on the flyover.

  Or the voices of anyone walking by down below . . . or the arguments that frequently kicked off in the surrounding flats . . . or the music that seemed to be blasting out from all sides day and night.

  Joe didn’t actually mind the noise because at least it broke up the feeling of solitude that came with being the new kid on the block. It was taking far longer to meet anybody here than in any of the other places he’d lived. He’d hear the other residents chatting in the corridors and knocking at each other’s doors, but whenever he rushed out to introduce himself they had usually vanished. And those that he did manage to bump into were invariably rushing to or from somewhere, so he didn’t get a chance to say anything more than hello as they whizzed past.

  It seemed like Phillip Kettler was the only one who wanted to get to know him, and in the two weeks since Joe had moved in there hadn’t been a single day that he hadn’t come knocking with one excuse or another. But after the first couple of times Joe had stopped answering because the man made his skin crawl. And it wasn’t just the fact that he was a racist, which was bad enough, but his habit of staring you in the eye long after you’d stopped talking, when any normal person would have felt awkward and said their goodbyes. That was just plain weird and Joe couldn’t be doing with it.

  Now that he’d explored all the local shops and checked out a couple of pubs, only to find that it was crap without someone to share a pint and a laugh with, the boredom was crashing in on Joe. So when Cheryl called round out of the blue one morning, panicking about a leak in her kitchen, he couldn’t get out of his door fast enough.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you with this,’ she apologised, rushing down the stairs ahead of him because the lift had broken down. ‘But the council won’t touch it if it isn’t pipework, and there’s no way I can afford a plumber. I’d usually ask Fred next door but he’s at his daughter’s this week. And my friend Mel’s boyfriend got arrested last night, so he couldn’t do it. You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’ Pausing, Cheryl slotted the key into the lock and looked back at him over her shoulder. ‘Lives opposite you, long black hair? It was her who suggested I ask you, actually. Hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘Course not,’ Joe said, wondering how women managed to talk so fast without fainting. He was exhausted just listening to her.

  ‘You might not say that when you’ve seen it,’ Cheryl warned, leading him through the flat.

  Smiling at Frankie, who was sitting in a playpen in front of the TV, pushing toy cars in and out of a shoebox garage, Joe raised his eyebrows when she pushed the kitchen door open to reveal the soaked towels spread out all over the sudsy floor.

  ‘Christ, you weren’t kidding, were you?’

  ‘It’s that stupid old thing,’ Cheryl grumbled, nodding towards the ancient washing machine that was sticking out at an angle from beneath a ledge. ‘I tried to pull it out to get at the pipes but I think I made it worse. Do you think you can do anything with it?’

  Joe scratched his head. He didn’t have a clue about electrical things and had hoped that it would be something really simple, like a loose pipe that just needed tightening. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit that to Cheryl while she was standing there looking so helpless. So, rolling up his sleeves, he said, ‘Okay, let’s see what we can do.’

  Cheryl bit her lip as he knelt down with the washing-up bowl to catch the water that spewed out of the machine when he opened the door. She hoped he could get it going a
gain, even if only for long enough to finish this load. Frankie was going to a party this afternoon, and she’d been washing the City tracksuit that Shay had bought him for his birthday. She could see the sky-blue pants through the glass door now, sitting perilously close to her red bra, and she just knew that the tracksuit was going to come out pink. Which would definitely cause a row, because Shay would swear she’d done it on purpose.

  After a good fifteen minutes of poking about, during which time he got absolutely soaked, Joe yanked a sodden balled-up pair of baby socks out of the drainage pipe.

  ‘I think that might have done the trick,’ he said, feigning nonchalance even though he was actually quite proud of himself. ‘Turn it back on; see what happens.’

  There was an instant gurgling sound when Cheryl switched the machine back on and the water began to drain out properly. ‘Oh, that’s brilliant!’ she beamed. ‘Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘No problem,’ Joe said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

  ‘Here, use this.’ Cheryl handed him a tea towel. ‘And let me make you a brew for your trouble. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee. But only if you’re having one. I don’t want to put you out.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s the least I can do. Sugar?’

  ‘Two, please.’ Putting the tea towel back on its hook, Joe looked around. ‘Is it just me, or is this place bigger than mine?’

  ‘Yours is a one-bed, this is a two,’ Cheryl told him, waving for him to sit at a tiny table tucked away in the corner beneath the window. ‘That’s why you’re supposed to have a look at it before you sign up for it – in case you don’t like it.’

  ‘Ah, well, it’s my own fault,’ Joe said, pulling out a stool from under the table.

  ‘For winding your girlfriend up and getting kicked out,’ Cheryl finished for him. ‘See, I do listen sometimes.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Joe grinned. ‘I know I’m boring but it usually takes more than one meeting for people to realise it.’