suppose I should feel relieved.’ Paul opened a bottle of Beck’s and sank back on the sofa to drink it. ‘At least I know where I stand.’ He had been given two months’ pay and notice to quit. The company in which he had been promised such a wonderful career was heading for liquidation.
Kallie had wanted to raise the subject of paying for the house to be rewired, but knew it was time to hold off. ‘What do you want to do?’ she asked softly.
‘What I don’t understand is this, right—they hired me to look for innovative music, and the moment things get tight they fall back on old material, repackaged compilations, safe stuff they can hawk around to advertising agencies. The superclubs are dead, the bands are crap and the industry is heading down the toilet. Everyone’s downloading, who needs to buy CDs? If we’re going to stay here, I’ll have to make a complete career change.’
‘What do you mean, if we stay here?’ she asked. ‘I’ve put every penny I have into this house. We made the decision jointly—where else can we go?’
The ensuing silence worried her more than any answer. She knew he had viewed the move as a way of giving up his old life rather than starting a new one.
The television had no aerial and reception was lousy, but Paul sat before it anyway, opening his third beer while she went downstairs and tackled the painting of the built-in cupboards. She had set up a battery-powered lamp in the bathroom now, making the room a little more cheerful, and further dousings of disinfectant beneath the bathtub had taken care of the spiders. The room still seemed abnormally large compared to the kitchen, and she disliked the fact that it was below street level, but Benjamin Singh had explained that part of the basement was once a coal cellar. Kallie tried to imagine the rumble of coal in the chute, the stone-floored scullery and outside plumbing, but the history of the house had been erased by successive owners.
She remained unbothered by the idea of Mrs Singh dying at home in unexplained circumstances. She considered herself practical, rarely given to overactive flights of imagination. And yet there was something . . .
Kallie was moving the lamp when she saw the damp patch on the far wall, beneath the tiny window, a creeping sepia stain roughly the shape of Africa. Perhaps it had been there all along, but this was the first time she had noticed it. Her fingers brushed the brickwork and found it dry to the touch. Could coal dust have permeated the walls to the extent that it returned, spreading through paint and plaster like asbestos powder silently accreting within the lungs?
Perhaps she had taken on too much. Paul was unhappy and unhelpful. Later, as she lay in the cool, darkened bedroom nursing a headache, she wondered if they had really done the right thing. The property anchored them more firmly than any child. Certainly, Ruth Singh had never stirred from the house. Kallie couldn’t let it have the same effect on them.
13
* * *
EVERYONE IN THE STREET
‘We’ve got a match on Greenwood’s client.’ May came through the hole where the door should have been with an air of triumph.
Bryant was taking tea with two of the workmen who had set up a primus stove in the hall to make their own refreshments. ‘Ah, so what’s the score with your cuckold?’ he asked. The carpenters looked at May with fresh interest. They clearly enjoyed chatting with Bryant, and had settled in so comfortably that May suspected they were hoping to drag out the work until Christmas.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t call him that,’ snapped May, uncomfortable at having to discuss his private affairs in front of strangers. Such openness never bothered Bryant, who always behaved as if there was no one else in the room.
‘I’m sorry, the situation intrigues me, that’s all. You know how unlucky I’ve been in my own romantic affairs.’
‘Oh, come on, it hasn’t been all bad. There was that girl in 1968.’
‘Exactly. The only person in London who didn’t have sex in 1968 was my Uncle Walter, and that was because he was in an iron lung. The trouble is, I’ve spent too much time on my own. I suspect I’ve started to behave abnormally.’
‘Not at all. You’ve always been horrible to people.’
‘That’s very hurtful,’ Bryant complained, attempting an empathetic response. ‘Do you have any idea how alone you can feel