SEVEN

The door to ‘Knacker’ McGuire’s flat was ornate, like the grand entrance of a house owned by the West Midlands rich. There was a brass knocker and a spyhole and a glare of blonde wood to suggest a visitor had arrived somewhere and probably underestimated the importance of the people inside. The sight of the landlord’s door also reinforced her feelings that all of her assumptions about the building and the people inside might be entirely wrong.

What was even stranger was the small CCTV camera attached high on the wall above the top of the door. It was not a new camera, but one of the old ones that looked like a Super-8 cine-camera fixed into a bracket.

Nearly a minute passed after Stephanie knocked before several locks were unbolted and a chain slid through a latch on the other side. The door shifted a few inches to become ajar. One large eye presented itself, the blue iris so pale as to suggest marine life, and with it a nose reminiscent of a horse – not regally equine, but more nag-like and knuckled from hard labour and scraps. Dim light shone around a halo of curly hair. ‘Yeah?’

Stephanie moved her eyes up to the camera. ‘It’s OK, I’m not here to rob you.’

Knacker didn’t smile. ‘What’s the problem? It’s the evenin’. I should have said that anyfing that needs fixin’ you need to tell me before six.’

Where do I start? Stephanie bit back on recommending demolition. ‘Oh, no, it’s not that. I just need to speak with you. Something’s come up. I, er . . . I need to leave.’

‘Eh? What you talkin’ about?’ It was more of a belligerent challenge than a question and her resolve tottered as though it had suddenly hit black ice. Just as quickly she tightened all over with irritation at his tone.

The door opened a full foot. Knacker’s face filled the gap, followed by one bare shoulder and arm. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just silky tracksuit bottoms with the waistband of Calvin Klein underwear visible. All of his clothes looked new; they hadn’t yesterday.

The landlord had the kind of body she’d seen on drug addicts and women with eating disorders: supple skin pulled tight on knobbly features and sinewy limbs. Old man bony in a younger body. She always wondered if people worked at that ‘look’ or if it was genetic. They seemed to have made a lifelong enemy of body fat and ended up striking but unattractive. The hair had not been starved of nutrition, however: it was thick and so well groomed she feared a wig. Big curly locks around an ageing face. A middle-aged man dressed like a teenager.

‘I’ve changed my mind. About the room. I’ve come about the deposit.’

Knacker’s eyes narrowed and she knew in a heartbeat she’d struck a nerve. He quickly relaxed his expression, sniffed, and changed his tack. He had some persuading to do, some ducking and diving – she’d seen that look all her life. ‘That’s not something I’m prepared to discuss now. I’ll come and see you tomorrow—’

She cut his bullshit off before it could get airborne. ‘I’m at work tomorrow. Early start. This won’t take long.’

Yesterday, at the time of the interview, she’d disliked him immediately, but knew most landlords of sub-lets were bastards; they went with the territory. Buy-to-let summoned the spiv. But what had been immediately and abundantly clear was that he liked the sound of his own voice, liked to give flight to his opinions and ‘foughts’, without really answering questions.

She guessed he’d also been showing off because she was young and attractive and he had wanted to appear worldly. She hadn’t planned on staying for long, no more than a few months before she landed a job in London, so she’d reasoned she could put up with him. He was small too, and hadn’t exuded lechery or hostility. And there were other girls living here, he had said so, and that fact had reassured her. But how much effort had she really put into an assessment of Knacker, when so desperate to find another room at no more than forty pounds a week? After only one night beneath the roof of 82 Edgehill Road, the awareness that she’d suppressed her suspicions and instincts gnawed at her accusingly. Her chest burned with an indigestion of frustration.

He’d also kept control of the exchanges yesterday afternoon, and she’d let him. They’d both been disingenuously upbeat and exuded positive energy, because he was close to money and she so wanted the room. A not unusual barter of self-interest that she loathed herself for now.

When she’d asked about central heating, a shower, he’d seemed amused, half smiled and said, ‘All of that, all of that’ – that pronounced vat – ‘has been put in. Done it myself. One of the fings my dad taught me. How to be handy, like.’

But tonight, Knacker’s temperament had undergone a change as he continued to try and get rid of her from his doorstep. ‘I’m busy. I like to relax in the evenin’s. Not get bovvered by people. You’ll find I’m a very private person. You wouldn’t want me knockin’ on your door when you was settled down for the evenin’.’

She suspected he was also selling an idea of himself while telling her off. She hated that about older men who knew they were unappealing to her. He liked the word evening too. She suspected he thought it gave him gravitas, civility, respectability. A chav with airs.

She spoke slowly but couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. ‘I’m sorry. But it’s not even nine. I’ve been at work all day. And I need to get this resolved now.’

‘You need to get it resolved,’ he recited the word back at her sarcastically, and she caught a glimpse of gappy teeth between thick lips that were incongruously sensual amidst all the bony hollows of his face. ‘It’s neither the time nor the place to resolve fings of this nature.’ He played at a contrived intelligence and thought he was clever. It made her more determined to retrieve both the rent and deposit. ‘I mean I ain’t got no shirt on,’ he added and thought this was funny. He revealed more of his torso and was proud of it. Though thin, his body was deeply muscle-cut and he wanted her to notice his abs. ‘But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll come down and see you in a bit.’

She filled with anger that was actually red and hot like people say it is. ‘It won’t take long. We can—’

‘I ain’t talking on a doorstep when I’m ’alf naked, girl. I gotta fink this frough, like. You was very happy to take that room. Practically snatched the key out me hand. And now you is on my doorstep asking for money that, let’s be honest wiv each other, ain’t yours no more.’

‘I made a mistake. Things change. I need . . .’ She stopped, furious with herself for introducing need into the exchange; she’d already lost ground.

Delighted with her irritation, Knacker looked down at her and smiled. He was mocking her. No skirt would get the better of him over money.

Stephanie turned to descend the stairs but was so emotional she momentarily lost her balance.

‘Careful, you won’t be going nowhere if you break your leg.’

‘Then get the place bloody lit properly!’ It was out of her mouth before she could give it a moment’s consideration.

Knacker’s smile became a sneer. Even in the dark his face appeared paler. ‘You’s got a nerve, girl.’

‘It’s not safe.’ Her voice had lost its edge.

‘Criticizin’ and complainin’ and using that language in my muvver’s house. You not been here five minutes. What’s wrong wiv you?’

‘Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t like it here. I was wrong about it. I’ve changed my mind. People can change their minds.’

‘Just as well you ain’t a bloke.’ He said this in a soft tone and one far worse than a spittle-propelled bark.

Stephanie stiffened all over. She seemed to grasp the most obvious fact about the situation right then: she was arguing with a thick bully, and an unscrupulous, half-naked reptile on the stairs of a dark house in which no one wanted to know her.

He smiled again, the sneer gone, happy he had made his point and belittled and intimidated her. ‘As I said, I will make an exception to my rules, and I will come down and see you when I am ready.’

Stephanie turned away to hide the tears of rage and frustration filming her eyes. She returned to her room.