Everyone's moving out. The tall girl left this weekend and Mr Hamidullah said that they'll be going too, as soon as they can find somewhere else. It's a funny sort of reaction, that moving away response. I can understand the need to make a break and a fresh start, but a different location and different environment are just temporary distractions. You can't get away from yourself.
Speaking of moving, I think Torn Coutts may be on his way. There were all sorts of ructions at work on Friday after a couple of journalists started enquiring about a rumour that a senior manager had to pay off a former lover to get her out of the department. No one got much work done with all the excited gossip and people to-ing and fro-ing to the tenth floor all morning. I was one of the last ones to be summoned.
One of the tenth floor executives was my manager when I first started in the department, so I was a bit reticent about I saying what had been going on. She's very sharp and spotted it right away. 'This isn't like you, Steven,' she said. 'He's not threatened you, has he?'
'Um ... well ... er... not exactly,' I said.
'What do you mean?'
So I told her what he said a couple of weeks ago, about how if I didn't toe the line I'd better start looking for another job because things here would get tougher and tougher.
She didn't say anything after that. She just sat back and looked at the others.
No, I've thought about moving too, but I like my little hideaway and my patch of garden and, besides, there's nothing I can do to change the past. Poor Julie. It was awful what happened, but it did have a certain inevitability to it. I've seen it coming for ages. She shouldn't have got involved with that thug.
I've still not told anyone about finding her body on the afternoon I had that row with Stuart. How I needed someone to talk to and wanted to see if she was okay after the ruckus I'd heard the night before. It'd only cause complications and they'd just ask awkward questions like why, if I'd had no reply to my knocking, did I try the door? (I still don't know. I just had a feeling.) Why did I go inside? What did I do when I found her? Why didn't I call the police? Then there'd be all the other stuff. How long had I known her? What was my relationship with her? Was I the reason she was throwing her boyfriend out?
No, I'm glad I stayed out of that stuff. It's all over now. They got the guilty party, the really guilty one.
Anyway, it's the first thing that's ever drawn this neighbourhood together. Suddenly it's started to feel like a community, with people acknowledging each other in the street and passing the time of day. I've no intention of moving now that I'm just getting to know my neighbours.
For example, there's a rather shy redhead who flats on her own over the back, diagonally behind the carport. She's one of those nervy types with half a dozen locks on her front and back doors. She was quite disturbed by what happened over here, but it had a macabre fascination for her, in spite of herself. It turns out she's something of a Barry Kennedy fan too and was most impressed that I write speeches for him.
At first sight she looks rather plain — no make-up, hair tied straight back and a propensity for baggy jumpers — but I saw the potential right away. She has a lovely figure. I caught her silhouetted against a standard lamp in her nightdress the other evening and I've seen glimpses of her through the bathroom window. She locks her doors but she's not too rigorous with her curtains.
In fact, I might pop over now and tell her about seeing Barry at Pid and Betti's party last night. Maybe I'll even give her a sneak preview of his next speech. It'll be a good excuse for a visit.