Chapter 1
It’s been a proper scorcher for this early in June, and the air’s thick with pollen as they break into Mrs MacReady’s. I feel like a spare part, hovering by the front door with its tell-tale pint of semi-skimmed sitting in a little puddle of dried-up spilled milk. If only I’d been here earlier to see it.
“Is Mrs Mac going to prison?” Billy asks.
“No, love!” I pick him up, though he’s getting too big for that really. “The police are just going in to make sure she’s all right, seeing as she wasn’t answering her door.”
“What if she’s out at the shops? Won’t she be cross they’ve broken her window?”
“Mrs Mac only goes out on Saturdays, when the taxi calls, remember?” He’s too heavy, so I put him down before I do myself a mischief. But I keep my arm around him. “Is she all right?” I ask the male constable when he comes out again.
He gives me a smile. “Don’t worry—we’ve called an ambulance, but I think she’s just a bit dehydrated, that’s all. Still, won’t hurt to get her checked out.”
“Did she have another fall?” I feel guilty for asking.
He nods, but he’s got my meaning. “Happened before, has it? How did she manage then?”
“She’s always been able to pass me a key through the letterbox, and I go in and get her back on her feet.” More and more often, these days.
“Let me guess—won’t trust anyone with a spare key?” The constable nods, like he understands what old people are like. It’s a bit of a relief. “We’ll have to contact social services, get her assessed. See if they think she’s up to looking after herself.”
I’ve got a fair idea how that’ll go, and I feel guilty again. But it’s for the best, isn’t it?
“She smells funny,” Billy puts in.
“Billy! What have I told you?” I turn back to the constable, and the female constable is there too now. “His dad’s a tactless old so-and-so too,” I say apologetically.
The female constable is about my age, probably, though I expect most people would say she looks younger. She’s got pale red hair, a sort of golden colour, cropped close so that when she turns her head you can see short feathery hair at the nape of her neck. It looks soft, like velvet. Her skin’s creamy-pale, and she’s got a sort of lean grace to her even under all the kit the police seem to wear these days. Makes most policewomen look dumpy, but not her.
She’s got a handkerchief or something wrapped round her hand, and I realise with a jolt she’s bleeding. “Are you all right?”
She shrugs, and smiles. It’s a nice smile. “Cut myself on the window. I’ll live.”
“Let me look at it for you. At least wash it out.” My eyes dart over to Mrs MacReady’s front door, with its peeling paint and grimy net curtains over the broken windowpane. She gets the point.
“Thanks. That’s very kind of you. Mark, you’re all right staying with Mrs MacReady, aren’t you?”
The constable wrinkles his nose, but he goes in anyway.
“I’m Ellen, by the way,” she tells me as we step across the landing and into mine and I realise what a godawful mess I left it in this morning.
“Carla,” I say back. “And this is Billy, my little monster.”
She grins. “I’m sure you’re not a monster really,” she says to Billy, but he goes all shy and hides behind my legs. “Must be a bit crowded for three of you, in a flat this size.”
“Oh, I’m not with his dad!” I don’t know why I blush. “Never was, to be honest, but VJ’s a good dad to Billy. He has him every Friday—that’s why I was out all day.”
“Making the most of it?”
I nod. “It’s my day at the gym—yeah, I know, could do with a few more of them.” I carry on quickly so she doesn’t feel she has to say something polite. “Then I do the shopping. No point dragging Billy round Tesco’s when I don’t have to. But it means I’m out all day, so that’s why I didn’t notice the milk. Here, you run your hand under the tap while I get the first aid kit.”
“Sounds like you’re a good neighbour to the old dear,” she says, loud so it’ll carry over the sound of running water.
I’m not, really. I mean, I look in on her, and I get stuff for her when she’s not up to shopping, but I always feel I ought to do more. “I try,” I say.