~7~

THE HOUSE WAS NUMBER 279. The façade was grimy pale blue, with patches of exhaust-grey rendering exposed here and there, as though the painter had given up before finishing the undercoat, realising nothing was going to help the place look any better. The balcony was boxed in with corrugated plastic sheeting, a little darker and dirtier than the blue of the façade, and the windows were draped with what appeared to be faded green bed sheets. They drooped awkwardly at an angle, as though the house had suffered a stroke.

Jack went through the front gate, down a short, cracked-concrete path, and up two wooden steps onto a small, creaking verandah. Weeds grew through the decking. He knocked.

A moment or two later, a voice: ‘Just a minute!’ It was a woman. Jack waited and then heard footsteps inside, growing louder as they approached over wooden floorboards. The door opened.

‘Hi. Can I help you?’

She was tall; on the skinny side. She had short, nearly white-blonde hair, with a boyish fringe under a black beret. Dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes and a small mouth with full, red lipstick lips. Light-coloured skin with a dusting of freckles over the cheeks. A warm smile.

‘Is Shane in?’ asked Jack.

‘Sorry, he’s away,’ she replied. ‘Back Thursday or Friday, I think.’ She was wearing a faded pink T-shirt, something written on it in black, shaped into a flattened circle: Partido del Slumber, Sevilla 1987. Denim cut-offs flashing a lot of slim tanned leg and a pair of scuffed red Converse sneakers on her feet with gold laces. Matching bright red handbag with a large gold clip, across her body on a long thin strap. Jack might have said university student, but she was older than that: maybe early thirties. And she had style. Jack sensed her confidence.

‘Just on my way out,’ she said. ‘Can I help with anything?

Take a message?’

Jack thought of a few messages but did not want to give the woman a bad impression. ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll call back later.’

‘Sure.’ She stepped out of the house and pulled the door shut behind her. The lock snapped loudly. She presented her hand. ‘I’m Kim, by the way.’

‘Jack Susko.’

They shook hands. ‘Kim Archer,’ she added with a small bow and smiled again. She moved past him and Jack followed her through the front gate. On the street, she stopped and pointed. ‘I’m going that way.’

‘Same.’

They began to walk. Jack caught a breath of her perfume, something floral but sophisticated: not meant for denim shorts, and yet worked perfectly on her.

‘Shane’s in China,’ she said. ‘Shooting a beer commercial.’

‘Really?’

Kim noticed Jack’s surprise. ‘Yeah, I know. Finally got some paid work!’ She brushed her fringe. ‘He does try though, poor boy.’

‘When did he go?’

‘Last week, um … Wednesday? Thursday? What day is it today?’ Kim laughed.

‘Sunday.’ Jack frowned, thinking.

‘Are you an old friend?’

‘Yeah. Sort of,’ he said, wondering where Shane might actually be. ‘Old flatmate. Wanted to say hello.’

‘Oh, lucky you,’ she joked. ‘What’s he done?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Outstanding bills? Never returned your favourite jacket? Or did he borrow your car and get you demerit points and a speeding fine?’

Jack grinned. ‘He owes you money, too, then?’

‘Only two months’ rent. I don’t even want to talk about the phone bill.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Yeah, tell me about it. He’s promised to square everything as soon as he gets back from China. He’s on good money there, apparently. And I’m about to move out, so he knows I need it. And if he doesn’t, he knows I’ll kill him. Slowly.’

‘Have you lived with him long?’

‘About a year, thereabouts.’

‘And he’s still acting?’

‘More like pretending. That he’s an actor.’ There was a flash of annoyance, but she dispelled it quickly, as if guilty for feeling it. ‘Most of his work is modelling. He’s good at that. Stands there, looks good, says nothing.’ She smiled, turned her bright eyes to Jack. ‘Did I just describe the perfect man?’

‘You forgot to say has money.’

‘Oh, poop! See, that always happens to me. I never remember everything that’s on the shopping list. I always settle for flawed men and then wonder why things never last.’

‘Just think of Shane next time.’

‘Yeah, I should. It’s just that Shane does so much thinking about Shane that I’d hate to clog the universe up with more of the same.’

‘Sounds like you’re looking forward to moving out.’

Kim sighed. ‘Oh, he’s all right. High maintenance sometimes, that’s all. I told him that if he asked me whether he looked like Brad Pitt one more time, I was going to shave his eyebrows off while he was asleep.’

Jack remembered the chin dimple, blue eyes, short blonde-brown hair and the elastic of his Calvin Klein underpants always showing above a loose belt. ‘Does he still know everyone?’

‘One-point-two million people and counting. And he has to ring them all, all the time. Surely someone is going to help him crack the movie business!’

Jack wondered if last Friday night’s heist was research for a role.

‘Did you live with him long?’ asked Kim.

‘Just a couple of months, years ago. He was in between houses. Somebody recommended him to me as the perfect house guest.’

‘Incorrect!’

‘Very.’

A mobile phone began to ring in Kim’s handbag. She stopped and fished it out. ‘Sorry,’ she said, checking the number on the screen. ‘I just need to take this.’

‘No problem.’

She pressed the mobile to her ear and started walking again. ‘Hello! I’m on my way … Ten minutes … Yes … Yes! ... What? ... Oh, don’t be so stupid …’

As Kim talked, they came to a set of lights at a crossing. Jack indicated that he was turning right. She held up her hand, nodding. Into the mobile she said: ‘Hang on, babe, just a second. I’ve got to say goodbye to someone.’ She took the phone from her ear. ‘Lovely to meet you, Jack,’ she said, warmly. Then she leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

It surprised him. ‘Yeah, nice to meet you, too.’

‘He should be back end of the week. Feel free to pop around anytime.’

‘I will. Thanks.’

‘Bye!’

She walked off. The mobile returned to her ear and Jack watched Kim smile as she resumed her conversation. He heard her say: ‘No, no! Just an old flatmate of Shane’s …’

As he headed up the street, Jack glanced back. A couple of times. Which was a little strange, because Kim Archer was not even his type.

He walked. By the time he was nearly home, the nice feeling inspired by Kim had faded. High above, a plane had begun to draw smoky letters in the haze. Jack looked, squinting, wondering how long it would be before the sky was leased for more permanent advertising. Maybe he could take out a small corner ad for Susko Books. Something like: For Sale. Second-hand book emporium. All reasonable offers considered. Will swap for a little peace of mind.