Things had been left tidy. Bed corners squared and grimy with dust. Four UHT milk cartons, spiderwebbed and politely perched on saucer sides on a tea tray. A dead house spider, legs curled inwards in death, crumbling in the cup.
Samhain might have been in a tree house. Branches stretching in dancers’ arms over the Velux, the sky a searing blue behind a fluttering confetti of new leaves. He opened the window to let out the scent of decay, and heard a lawnmower.
The scent of trapped life had been stronger with each step he’d taken. He’d pushed open this last door half-expecting to find a museum. Oak furniture, an old Grandfather clock. But it was more like a Premier Inn. White walled, all one piece. Everything covered in a dust so fine it formed a coverlet like dryer lint.
He glanced around, and ditched his rucksack on the bed. His shoulders felt strangely light without it: he had been carrying it a long time. Tools, his hoody, a t-shirt. Things he couldn’t manage without, when things were so easily lost. He looked in the mirror, and realised that somehow he had ended up with a cobweb in his buzzcut.
‘Sam?’ Roxy’s voice had the tone of a rusted gate blowing loose in a gale. She appeared in the doorway, in her work clothes, her tattoo a vibrant splash of green and blue. ‘So this is it, huh?’
‘Great, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Our new home. At least, for now.’
Something in her expression made him think of a laboratory beagle. The way they didn’t know what to do when the clasp slipped to let them free – looking at both sides of their cages, uncertainly, the only life they’ve ever known. ‘It’s great,’ she said. ‘It’s so big.’
‘We should keep it for just the three of us. You, me, and Frankie.’
She nodded, and stepped closer. He could smell last night on her. The taste of whisky in her sweat; her top thin enough that he could see her nipples.
‘So, this is your room – is it?’ Her smile was wary.
Sudden silence from the lawnmower. Quiet, and the noise of cooing pigeons overhead.
‘Yeah. Well, there are plenty to choose from. It’s not like any of us need to share anymore.’
He saw her harden, and turn away. ‘No. We don’t need to share. I just thought you might want to.’
In the next step, she moved to an unexpected distance. Out of reach and curving backwards, too far for him to touch. ‘Roxy,’ he said. ‘Come on, don’t be like that.’
‘I’m going to choose my room.’ She receded into the darkness of the stairway, and started hopping down. ‘Just so you know, I’m on a split – so don’t expect me home early. Tommy and me might go out after closing.’ Pausing at the curve of the stairs, with one foot hanging over the next step. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
Samhain didn’t answer right away: he didn’t know how to. Anything he said was going to be the wrong thing, anyhow. That was always the way with Roxy.
‘Forget it,’ she said.
It was as she hopped around the bottom corner, that he suddenly remembered. They were without electricity and gas. Somebody had to sort that out.
‘Hey, Roxy?’ he called.
‘What?’
She paused where she was, already on the second landing, and didn’t look happy about being stopped.
Reconnection in a squat was easy. Frankie had taught him how. First step was to find a call centre worker lazy or gullible enough to send a letter to him at this address, which he could use as proof that he lived here. Only, Samhain couldn’t make phone calls. He’d lost his Nokia in a pub a week or so ago, or maybe in the street on the way home, and had no idea where to start looking for it.
‘Can I borrow your phone?’