Page 22 of A Face in the Crowd
When I first moved in, Lauren told me the door would sometimes stick. I went out five or six times thinking I’d locked the door, when I’d not pulled it all the way into the frame. I’ve not done it in at least two years – and it does stick more depending on whether it is a hot, cold or mild day. Perhaps I made the same mistake I did those years ago?
I open the door – which doesn’t catch – and head into the hallway. There’s nobody there and no hint of noise from either above or below, but I can’t escape the feeling of being watched. It’s unlike any other sensation; more of an intrinsic knowing than anything else. I take a step across the hallway to Jade’s old apartment and then, as if I’ve stepped on a hidden switch, music starts. It’s not loud, and if my door was closed, I wouldn’t be able to hear it, but it still stops me on the spot.
Karen said she heard Elton John playing from inside the apartment and I wasn’t sure if I believed her. It’s not that I thought she was lying, more that she was mistaken and perhaps the music was coming from elsewhere, or that it was a different singer. It’s not, though. Elton is singing about packing bags and being as high as a kite. I feel frozen, listening to the words and piano until he reaches the chorus.
Different times.
It’s only when my door creaks that I’m released. Billy is there, still scratching at his costume. I crouch and ruffle his ears, then release the straps underneath and help him to wriggle free. He immediately turns and trots back into the flat. He’ll be asleep within thirty seconds.
The song continues to play and I take a couple of steps until I’m eye to eyehole with the opposite door. I can’t see anything, obviously, and yet I still have that sense of being watched.
It’s at this moment there’s a clunk from behind and Karen emerges into the hallway with a basket of laundry under her arm. We do a double-take at one another and there’s a second in which the thought flutters through me that she might have been watching through the peephole in her own door.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
I step away from the door and stumble over my words, eventually managing: ‘Elton John.’
Karen moves along the corridor until we’re level. The music has stopped. ‘I didn’t catch what you said,’ she says.
‘I, um…’
She puts down the wash basket on the floor and turns to look at the closed door opposite, from which there is nothing beyond but silence.
‘My door was unlocked,’ I say. She spins to look past me and I hastily add: ‘Nothing was taken. I think I must’ve left it like that. It sticks sometimes.’
We look to each other and there’s a moment of understanding. I can see it in the deepness of her eyes and I’m certain she can see it in me, too. I’m keeping something back, but so is she. Sometimes that’s what friendship is – knowing that, for a while at least, secrets have to stay as such.
Karen picks up her washing once more and takes half a step away. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, right?’
‘Yes,’ I reply.
Then we go our separate ways.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday
Billy seems a little uninterested on his walk the next morning. He’s usually straining at his lead, trying to drag me off into various gullies and alleys, but all he does now is amble along at my side.
I check the lamp posts once more, but there are no signs up asking about missing envelopes. As I’m getting back to Hamilton House, the door opens and Nick emerges with Judge, his corgi. The two dogs immediately begin their ritual of sniffing one another as greeting. Nick and I stand together like proud parents of children about to walk down the aisle. Nick is a little older than me and one of those types who seem painlessly, effortlessly stylish and skinny. I realise it’s likely down to a significant time in front of a mirror and working out, but I only ever see the final result. With most of the people who live here, it’s easy to see why; with Nick, I’m less sure. Itfeelsas if he could move away if he wanted.
He nods towards one of Karen’s party posters. ‘You going?’ he asks.
‘Yes. What about you?’
He nods towards the dogs. ‘I’ve got to stay in with Judge. He doesn’t like the fireworks at this time of year.’
I tell him that dogs are apparently welcome and can tell from the glazed ‘oh’ that he was also hoping to get out of having to socialise. Perhaps this is why he doesn’t move – it’s easy to keep to oneself while living here. No big turnover of tenants and nothing in the way of nosey neighbours overlooking back gardens.
‘Has Mark been onto you about Billy?’ Nick asks.
‘Huh?’
Nick nods towards the front door. ‘He was having a go about me letting Judge onto the stairwell.’
‘He doesn’t even live on our floor.’
‘I know! He aimed a kick at Judge the other day when we were coming back in.’
