Casting a wary glance to the border, Tom jogs down the drive, his ears straining for any sound of the neighbours returning to their patch. Archie pads behind Tom.
Tom raises a hand. ‘Excuse me. Mate. Hold up.’
The occupant of the car struggles to lower the window until a series of stiff jerks move the speckled glass. The smell of the vehicle’s interior belches; an exhalation of weathered carpets, male sweat, plastic warmed by a heater. ‘I’m going. I’m going,’ the dishevelled figure barks. ‘I’ve been here a few minutes! Is that such an inconvenience?’ He waves a plump hand at the general area containing the drive that he’s strewn his car across. ‘So great an imposition? Really!’ The man turns the engine over but he’s left the car in gear. The engine stalls and a pained lurch jolts the old machine.
‘No. It’s not that. I just wanted to ask… It’s…’ Tom looks in the direction of the neighbours’ house. ‘Them. I mean…’ Tom shrugs. ‘What’s the deal? With them?’
‘You live here now?’
The question feels like an accusation threaded with pity. ‘Not for long,’ Tom says, and realises that he’s distancing himself from ownership of the house, ashamed of its shabby exterior, its dreadful past.
‘Then you better keep your stay short. Or they will.’
Returning his attention to the ignition, the driver rattles keys until the unhealthy-sounding engine squeals and turns over again. This time, a gust of black exhaust hits the road as if a bag, filled with soot, has been upturned onto the kerb.
Desperate for more information, Tom dithers but can only haplessly watch the old car grumble away, throatily spraying particulate.
He shifts his attention to the Moots’ house, taking in the straight lines, smart brick walls, the immaculate slate scales of the roof. The facade of the building no longer enchants him, though, as if it is something from a fairytale. He feels that its character has changed, or been enlivened by a previously disguised persona. The front is now a haughty, spiteful, mocking facade made of bricks, wood and paint; the windows are mirrored lenses covering arrogant eyes, narrowed to a sneer.
‘Fuck it.’
Archie trots behind his master, excited to be on the move again as they head next door.