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“What did you say it sounded like?”
“The cries of the damned.”
“No, mate. That wouldn’t be covered by your insurance. It’s probably rusted pipes.”
John sighed. It might have been mistaken for relief. But only by those who didn’t know him.
He adjusted his tie. It was hot in the small passageway that separated the bathroom from the kitchen in his council flat. No windows, that was the problem. Shut the doors that lined the passage, and it was as dark as the grave in there.
He removed his glasses, took a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, and wiped the sweat from his bald head.
“Will it take long to fix?”
The plumber looked up from the bathroom floor. Long dark hair hung in front of his eyes. All John could see was his hawkish nose, bent slightly at the end. “Got to find the problem first, guv. But I hope not. I’m supposed to be done for the day. I’d already have my feet up if you hadn’t walked past while I was loading the van up the road.”
John stepped into the kitchen and crossed to the window that was permanently open, even in winter. He placed his glasses carefully next to the kettle. He could tolerate most of the problems that had developed recently in his little flat. The smells. The voices. But not those sounds from the toilet every time he flushed.
“Thanks for agreeing to pop up on the spur of the moment.”
“No problem. I could use the extra cash. Mondays are slow.”
“Right. I don’t like Mondays.”
John opened one of the cardboard boxes lining the kitchen counter. He poked around inside until he found two wine glasses. Then he slipped a small glass bottle from his waistcoat pocket. “Would you like some chianti?”
“You what?”
“Red wine. From Tuscany. This one’s rather nice. I thought I’d fry some liver for supper. Would you like some?”
A series of grunting bangs preceded the response.
“With onions?”
John shook his head. He reminded himself that this was Notting Hill, after all. He couldn’t expect the tradesmen to share his tastes.
“Onions don’t agree with me, I’m afraid. I prefer fava beans. You’re sure I can’t tempt you?”
“No, mate. Got to get home as soon as I’ve finished here. We’re off to look for a new place.”
“Oh? How exciting.” John slid the little bottle back into his pocket. He took out his handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth before opening the fridge. He reached inside for the wine bottle, then poured himself a glass. “Where are you staying at the moment?”
Grunting. Banging. Then the toilet flushed. The wine glass shattered on the kitchen floor as John’s hands shot towards his ears.
The plumber appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. “Are you alright, guv?” His nose wrinkled. “Cor blimey, I see what you mean about that smell. It’s almost worse in here.”
He was a big man, towering over John. His sweat-stained vest and stained jeans were an even starker contrast. “Lucky you’ve got those plastic sheets all over the floor. Painters, I suppose?” He looked around at a functional kitchen. There was little in the way of decoration, except for a few hand-drawn pictures of clowns. “This place is cosy. Compact, you know? Manageable. Have you just moved in?”
John reached for a broom. He began sweeping broken glass into a corner. The wine pooled into dips in the plastic sheeting, where it lay dark and red. Seductive. Enticing.
He tore his gaze away. “No, these boxes... I inherited them.”
The tradesman nodded. “Somebody always scores from another person’s death. That’s just the way it is, innit? Sometimes I wish someone would die and leave me something.”
John smiled. “That’s a cheerful attitude, young man. Do you have any rich relatives?”
This was met with a snort. “Rich? That’s rich, that is. I’m Bill, by the way.”
John nodded, still busy with the broom. “Have you found the problem?”
“Getting there. There’s something I’d like you to see.”
Bill stepped backwards and disappeared from view.
Finishing up, John put the broom back where it belonged and followed the plumber into the bathroom. The big man stood with his arms crossed, looking into the porcelain bowl.
John looked from the plumber to the bowl. Something floated there, spinning slowly in a soundless waltz. It was long. Slender. Pale. A gold ring encircled it.
John gasped. It was impossible. He’d treated them with lime. They should have dissolved completely.
“That’s not one of yours, is it?”
John’s head snapped round. “Of course not. How could it be mine?”
Bill laughed. “I knew it. No ashtrays.”
The big man was speaking gibberish.
“I notice things like that. Little things. That’s how you get to know people, in my job.”
John raced back to the kitchen and snatched his glasses from the counter next to the kettle. Back in the bathroom, he saw that the long white object floating in the bowl was just a cigarette.
“The smell seems to be coming from the pipe under your toilet bowl.” Bill shook his head. “Looks to me like the main sewer is backing up into your flat when you flush.”
That made no sense.
“Would that explain those wailing sounds?”
Bill was wiping his hands again. “Didn’t hear no wailing sounds. But let me go outside and take a look at the main sewer pipe. There should be a manhole just outside your back door, I would think.”
John blocked the doorway. “That’s not necessary. We had the council round last week, and they checked that thoroughly.”
Bill moved to walk around the smaller man. “Still, you can never be- “
“They told us not to go anywhere near it. Said they’d be coming back regularly to keep an eye on it.” John raised both hands, palms out, but he stopped before placing them against the plumber’s chest. “So please, if you can just do what you can from this side.”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “Alright, guv. Whatever you say.” He dug in his pocket and produced a large bundle of keys. “Here, hold these, would you? I’ve got to get round behind the bowl there. It’s going to be tight enough as it is.”
John took the keys. He noticed the brightly coloured keyring with Bill’s name and an address.
“This is just a couple of blocks away. Your office?”
Heavy breathing preceded the response.
“No, that’s my place. The old place, at least. I work from home.”
John knew the street, had probably walked along it two or three times a week for years. “Nice area.”
This was met with another snort. “Place is a dump. My bird refuses to stay there, even overnight. That’s why I’m moving. And your money will give us just enough for the deposit.”
John walked back to the kitchen. He started to unpack the box nearest the door. This one seemed to contain mainly cutlery. Butter knives. Bread knives. Meat cleavers.
“So you said you were off to look for somewhere tonight?”
The response was accompanied by labored breathing. “That’s right. Been saving up for a couple of months now. In my line of work, it’s mainly cash. So if it never hits the bank account, I won’t have to declare it, will I?”
John turned his head. “Really? You don’t use a bank account, in this age of electronic transfers?” Intrigued, he stepped back into the hall and crossed to the bathroom.
“Don’t trust them. They’re all a wunch of bankers, ain’t they? Woah, guv. What you doing with that?”
John looked down at the meat cleaver in his hand. He laughed.
“Oops. Sorry. Just unpacking, that’s all.”
Bill slid out from behind the toilet and raised himself slowly to his feet. He was clearly out of breath.
“You had me going there, I tell you.” Bill tried to laugh, but his lungs weren’t yet ready to cooperate. “In my game, you never know what you’re walking into. There are some right nutters out there, believe me.”
John smiled. “Yes. Yes, I suppose there are.”
“Have you been following those disappearances in the news? Half a dozen people in the last couple of months. Vanished into thin air. The police don’t have a clue. I dunno. People need to be more careful, that’s what I say. Keep their wits about them, know what I mean?”
“Quite. Are you a religious man at all?”
Bill’s eyes swiveled sideways.
“Religious? I’m a plumber, guv. There’s nothing holy about my life.”
He wiped his hands again on the ubiquitous rag.
“Right, Mr Christie. That’s about as much as can be done for now. I’ve checked and sealed the outlet pipe. There’s nothing wrong with the cistern, as far as I can tell. I still think your water pipes are probably rusted, though. I can come back and take a proper look, if you like. And, remember, you need to talk to your uptight council workers about that sewer backing up into your toilet. And the stink it’s causing.”
John walked back into the kitchen, smoothing a corner of the plastic sheeting with his foot. This disturbed the wine, which flowed sluggishly towards him. “Thanks. What do I owe you? You’ll need to get home before your girlfriend comes looking for you.”
“No worries there, mate. She wouldn’t come round to my old place, even if I went missing for a week. Now let’s see...” Bill reached into his back pocket for a pen and an invoice pad. Stepping into the kitchen, he pushed aside a cardboard box and started to write.
He didn’t hear the shuffling sound as John crossed the kitchen behind him. He didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath as John leapt into the air with an arm raised above his head. And he didn’t feel the meat cleaver sink into the back of his skull.
His last impressions were the sight of a gold tooth lying under the fridge, and a sickening wave of the same nauseating smell he’d been trying to wipe off his hands since he’d walked into the sweet old man’s flat.
He heard the jangling of keys.
A door slamming shut.
Then nothing.