Page 16 of A Face in the Crowd
I take my dirty clothes out of the bag and cram them into the washer, before pushing two fifty-pence pieces into the slot to set it going. The resealed envelope of money is left at the bottom of the bag and I fold the material around it. I don’t like letting it out of my sight.
I’d almost missed what she said but reply with an unsure: ‘The clocks go back?’
‘Mum messaged me on Facebook earlier. I didn’t know. I never know if they’re going forward, back, or whatever.’
I think that’s probably true of everyone. The only thing of which we can be sure is that they’re definitely going back or forward an hour. I nod up to Karen’s party poster that’s stuck to the back of the door. ‘Are you going?’ I ask.
The smile has left Vicky’s face. She’s resting her elbows on her knees and doesn’t look up. ‘I have no money,’ she says, bigger things on her mind. ‘They’ve stopped my benefits again.’
‘Why?’
She holds both palms up. ‘I had to turn down a job because the hours were all over the place. It would’ve cost too much to put Yasmine into care. I’d have ended up losing money overall, plus seeing less of her. I couldn’t afford to take it – but when I turned it down, they stopped the benefits. I was screwed either way.’ Vicky rubs her eyes and sighs once more. ‘Rent’s due on Monday,’ she adds. ‘Do you think Lauren will give me a couple of weeks?’
I want to be supportive but I’ve been living here long enough to know that Lauren is only acting on behalf of the building’s owner. Rent extensions do not come often.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘How short are you?’
‘A hundred. I’ve got the rest. I’m hoping I’ll be able to scramble something together.’ She nods at the crib. ‘Her dad’s behind on maintenance and my Mum’s always saying she’ll help.’ Vicky huffs out a long breath but doesn’t need to say it. There’s defeat in going back to parents, or asking for money – if only in perception.
We’re interrupted as the music from down the hallway is nudged up a notch and starts to battle with the washer for dominance. Yasmine rolls over in her crib and there’s a moment in which it feels as if she’s going to open her eyes. I can sense Vicky holding her breath until her child settles once more.
‘I’ll have a word,’ I say, indicating the corridor.
It takes three separate knocks until Mark opens his door.
It’s not that Mark and I have never got on, more that we’ve barely exchanged anything other than a glance to acknowledge we recognise one another. Sometimes people know when they have nothing in common. When he first moved in, he was carrying a life-sized cardboard cut-out of some semi-naked model under his arm and I knew then we were very different people. He’s tall and broad, the type of person who is intimidating simply because of size. Mark is clinging onto a can of Stella in one hand as he nods towards me. I’m still cradling the envelope that’s wrapped in my dirty washing bag.
‘A’ight?’ he says.
‘Could you turn the music down a bit?’
He stares at me as if I’ve thrown some advanced algebra in his direction. The stench of weed floats out from his apartment and I struggle not to cough.
‘What?’ he says.
‘The music… it’s a bit loud.’
Mark turns between me and the inside of his flat. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. ‘How about you mind your own business, yeah?’
I step away and then turn back and sniff the air dramatically. ‘That’s fine. I’ll call 999 instead. I think there might be something on fire in here.’
His eyes narrow and there’s a moment in which I think the subtlety has gone over his head. It takes a couple of seconds, but it’s almost as if a light bulb goes off behind his stare. His top lip curls and he thrusts a pudgy finger in my direction. ‘You should watch yourself,’ he says with a snarl.
‘I will,’ I say politely. ‘You should turn the music down.’
He stands his ground for a second and then steps backwards, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, the volume dims.
Just another day at Hamilton House.
Chapter Nine
Sunday
I slept with the envelope under my pillow last night. It’s mad, I know. Ridiculous, really. I put it in the drawer underneath the television at first but found myself lying awake thinking about the cash. Poor old Billy wasn’t happy at being accidentally kicked awake as he slept on my feet – but it was only when the envelope was safely within touching distance that I finally started to drift off.
The first thing I did after waking up was fumble under my pillow to make sure it was still there. After that, I lay the cash out on the table again, counting the full £3,620. I can replace the £20 I spent. I’ll use my credit card to withdraw the money so that I can return the full amount.
I find myself sitting in the window, watching the street below. The bins have been kicked over, but that’s about the most controversial thing that happens around these parts. There’s not a soul outside, not a car passing. This serenity is part of my Sunday routine and yet I feel the constant tug back to the money on the table. I make a cup of tea to distract myself and then check last night’s lottery numbers. Our work syndicate didn’t win, so that’s another pound gone. Another pound wasted.
