EIGHT

At least the house was still standing.

I edged past the decrepit old bus which had brought the rest of Dot and Dash’s shifting commune, and was now an eye-catching garden feature in my flower bed. Its original Corporation red had been thickly overlaid with a variety of other hand-painted colours and dotted with flowers and symbols extolling peace and earthly love – although whether that meant love on the earth or of it, wasn’t quite clear. The windows were hung with curtains and beady things, and inside the seats had been ripped out and replaced with fitted furniture and hanging lamps. I pounded on the front door of the house.

Someone had nailed some plywood across the damaged section and cleared up the bits of broken wood and glass. Through a small hole in the glass I could see the brick had gone from the hallway. A dog began barking inside and someone shouted for me to wait. Next thing a bedroom window opened above me and Dot’s orange mop of hair appeared.

‘Oh, hi.’ She grinned in recognition. ‘Hang on – I’ll come down.’

I waited while her footsteps pounded down the stairs. It sounded loud. Then I remembered Susan had taken the carpets.

‘Mr Foreman. I say.’ It was Mrs Tree, leaning over the fence and waving at me, the poor demented soul. She was looking strained, probably with all the letters she’d fired off at the local council for allowing undesirables to come into the street.

Just then Dot unlocked the door and I dived inside. I really couldn’t take any more of my neighbour’s carry-on.

‘Sorry,’ I explained. ‘Nearly got caught by the local witch-finder.’

‘She had a go at Dash earlier. Said we had no right to be here, we should all go out and get jobs. Oh, and we were unwholesome. I’ve never been called unwholesome before.’

I wasn’t surprised; she may have been dressed like a disaster zone but she looked clean and scrubbed.

‘I need a shower and some fresh clothes,’ I told her, heading for the stairs. That’s if there are any of my clothes left, I thought, recalling Dash’s caustic comments.

‘Sure,’ she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to ask her permission to get some possessions from my own home. ‘I made Dash put them all back tidily. Do you want tea or coffee? We don’t have anything stronger.’

I nodded, thrown by her air of open friendliness. By rights she should have been on the defensive and expecting me to come marching in backed up by a private firm of storm troopers. Yet here she was offering me refreshments like we were old buddies.

I stopped two steps up, aware of a strange quietness. ‘Where is everybody?’ The place should have been heaving, with bodies covered in tattoos and safety pins lying around doing drugs and burning the door frames. Instead there was an almost deathly hush.

Dot popped her head round the kitchen door. ‘Working. They’ll be back later – those that aren’t doing double shifts, anyway. I’m on the sick until tomorrow – I’ve got a belly like Vesuvius erupting. Me periods are playing up.’

‘Sorry to hear it,’ I said, and continued up to my room, where the floor was wall-to-wall with sleeping bags and mattresses. Alongside each one was a collection of clothing, the common colour a muddy green. It looked like a bring-and-buy at the local army surplus store.

I found my wardrobe closed and marked with a sticker saying ‘DO NOT TOUCH’. Inside, all my clothes were neatly arranged on the shelves and hangers. Even my tie was on the rail, looking none the worse for its brief stay round Dash’s waist.

I picked out everything I needed, including and especially a leather jacket I’d had for years and which Susan had tried many times to slip to the Salvation Army. She claimed it made me look like a second-hand car dealer. I shrugged it on with a satisfied smile; there’s nothing like a busted marriage to make you revel in the things you wanted to do over the years but were rarely allowed to.

I packed a few things in a holdall and decided that anything else I needed, I’d buy along the way. I could hardly keep coming back there for a change of clothing, and instinct told me a few new things would be good therapy. Then I dived into the bathroom and had a quick shower, surrounded by other people’s toothbrushes, soap and tubes.

I went down to the kitchen, where the work surfaces were strewn with a collection of mugs and plates. Every item was different and, by the looks of it, hand-thrown to individual requirements. It was a colourful collection.

‘Thanks for putting everything straight,’ I said.

Dot smiled and handed me a mug of coffee. ‘S’all right. Dash really did think the place was deserted at first, otherwise he’d never have gone through your stuff. He’s a bit impetuous sometimes. It’s Jake, right?’ She pointed a blood-red fingernail at the other side of the mug and I turned it round and found my name inscribed in the glaze. ‘Dash had Molly make this for you. She’s our resident potter. She can make anything as long as it’s clay. D’you like it?’

There couldn’t be many things left that could throw me after the events of the last couple of days, but this one did. For some reason I found it difficult to speak for a few seconds.

‘It’s… brilliant. But why?’

Dot shrugged. ‘We crashed your place – it’s the least we could do. Especially after your wife took off the way she did. I mean, shit happens, but there’s no need for complete strangers to pile it on as well, is there?’ She peered at me as I sipped my coffee. ‘Say, did you know someone damaged your front door? It wasn’t us, I promise. We don’t do that sort of thing. Dash fixed it for you so you wouldn’t get anyone barging in. Well, except us, that is.’

‘It was me.’ I explained about not having a key and how I’d ended up at the local nick for being rude to a policeman. Dot seemed to find that impressive, her eyes widening like saucers as I described my stay in the pokey.

‘No way!’ she cried cheerfully. ‘Jeez, you’re a deep sort, Jake… for a guy who looks so square, I mean.’ She managed to conceal the criticism with a big grin and a matey punch on my upper arm. ‘Good on yer! I’ve been busted plenty of times. Nothin’ serious, though – the odd bit of weed, some trespass and that sort of thing. I went on a protest once, too, against whaling. It got a bit heavy when they called out the riot cops – that was in Auckland. Luckily they didn’t have room for all of us in the jail and they had to let us go with a slap on the wrist. Say, are you sure you’re okay about us being here? You ain’t gonna get us bounced by the cops are you?’

I shook my head. For some reason, since stepping back in the house and being greeted by the effervescent Dot, my mood had lifted.

‘No need. I won’t be staying here for the time being. I’ll probably have to sell the place eventually. Stay as long as you like.’

‘Cool. Thanks.’ She jumped up and sat on the work surface, staring at me. ‘So, what do you do, Jake? You look like a solicitor or something. My dad’s a solicitor in Auckland.’ She pulled a face. ‘He thinks I’m a wastrel – d’you believe that? I mean, who uses words like that these days?’

‘Solicitors, usually,’ I told her. ‘I’m a troubleshooter. I sort out problems. Well, I did until yesterday. I got laid off.’

‘Ouch. Bad luck. Still,’ she grinned with the irrepressible attitude of someone happy with her lot, ‘there’s always something out there if you look. You just gotta be ready to change direction, my dad always says.’ She looked suddenly soft-eyed. ‘He’s okay, my dad.’

I thanked Dot for the coffee and the personalised mug, and told her I had to be going. Things to do, people to see. Life to live. Like I’d got it all planned out.

‘No worries. You can leave the mug with us if you like. Most of the others do, even if they’re gone months. Some of them we’ve been carryin’ around for ages.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘So they’ve got something to come back to.’ She looked wistful for a moment. ‘Man, I’d hate that – not havin’ something to go back to.’

‘What if you move on? How do they catch up with you?’

She pointed to a laptop sitting on the end of the work surface. ‘Internet – how do you think? All they have to do is find a cyber café and drop us a note. We tell ’em where we are. Dead easy. You should try it. Here, I’ll give you our email.’ She scribbled out the details on a piece of paper and handed it to me. ‘There. You’re now part of a worldwide family of travellers. If ever you need to crash somewhere, hook up and shout. Someone’ll get back to you. We know loads of places.’

I was amazed. Yet why not? That’s what technology was for, surely. ‘Anywhere?’

‘Pretty near.’ She rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Well, we haven’t got anybody in Moscow yet, but give it time, eh?’

I left the new and bubbly occupant of my house and managed to avoid Mrs Tree while she was complaining loudly to her neighbour on the other side about the hippie invasion. I had no doubt she’d try to get some action taken against them, but since I wasn’t about to file an official complaint, I guessed she’d have her work cut out.

On the way back to see Marcus I called in at the bank to present my severance cheque and draw some cash. If I was going to set about getting another job and deciding if there was any mileage left to my relationship with Susan, I’d need a fighting fund.

News of Susan’s leaving had evidently spread like a bush fire. As I stepped through the door of the bank, I met Andrew and Lynne Kossof. Lynne was one of Susan’s wolf pack and Andrew was someone who always seemed to be in the background even when he was by himself.

‘How could you!’ Lynne snapped, giving me the kind of look normally reserved for dog owners who failed to scoop the poop. Her wrist was heavy with a collection of bangles, and they shook and clanked as she waved an accusatory finger at me. ‘How you can even show your face I don’t know! That poor woman…’

Since she chose to yell this at me, every syllable was heard by customers and staff alike, who each put their own interpretation on what she meant. I suddenly knew how it must have felt to be on the way to the guillotine in Paris during the French Revolution.

‘I didn’t–’ I began, but she didn’t want to hear.

‘Andrew, come away. Now.’ With that, she swept out of the door, dragging her docile mate after her. He threw me a sympathetic glance, but it was like being tossed a chocolate teapot.

I sighed and waited for the first available cashier, ignoring the looks coming my way. It was clear that Susan had done a damage-extension job on me, convincing her friends that her leaving and taking every stick of furniture was all my fault. I shouldn’t have been surprised; whatever her failings, communication delays among her mates wasn’t one of them.

‘Mr Foreman,’ said the cashier, her eyes frosting over ominously. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

‘You have?’ I didn’t like the sound of that. Banks don’t expect customers to do anything but pay in money and stay out of the red, and I hadn’t spoken to an employee there for as long as I could remember. Instinct told me I should leave the severance cheque in my pocket.

She guided me to a booth at the far end, where a chirpy youth in Day-Glo braces and hair gel smiled at me as if I’d won first prize in their customer of the year contest. Then he set about stamping all over my face, personal-banker style.

‘Mr Foreman,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We have a problem.’

‘You do?’ He could have fooled me. Anyone that cheerful obviously didn’t know what problems were. He needed to get out more.

‘Uh-huh. Your account doesn’t have sufficient funds to pay your outgoings, I’m afraid. And you’ve exceeded your maximum credit limit.’

I stared at him, my belly turning to liquid. ‘That can’t be right. My salary only went in last week – and I haven’t been down to the pub for my weekly ration of twenty pints and a hundred fags yet.’

As a joke it would have been weak after several pints of vodka. Early on a weekday morning, and to Junior Banker, it didn’t stand a chance. He dropped his smile like knicker elastic snapping, suddenly all serious and cool.

Susan. It had to be.

‘You don’t understand,’ he said, speaking slowly as if to a halfwit. ‘All available funds up to the limit have been withdrawn. You haven’t had your cash card or chequebook stolen, have you?’

Actually, he wasn’t too far off the mark.

‘As good as,’ I told him. ‘I think I’ve discovered another way of being mugged.’