Good Me Bad Me(21)

I sleep peacefully, feel rested for once, and hungry. I look for Rosie but her basket by the radiator in the entrance hallway is empty and I remember Mike said he sometimes takes her to work with him. More attention than at home.

There’s a note on the kitchen table. ‘Checked in on you – FAST ASLEEP!! Text me and Sas your new number please. I’ll be at work all day but Sas is around.’

I grab a bowl of cereal, eat it standing up against the warmth of the Aga. I hear the front door open, the antique bell above it sounds and whoever it is goes straight up the stairs.

‘Hello?’

But they don’t answer, so I go into the hallway. A handbag dumped on the floor, contents spilling out. Saskia. I walk over to it, her purse visible on the top, forced open by the receipts in it. She’s a buyer, makes her feel better, for a bit. I’m about to walk away when I see something poking out from the card section in the purse. I take a closer look then go back into the kitchen to tidy away my breakfast things. When I hear footsteps on the landing above I move into the hallway again, make sure we arrive at the same time.

‘Hi, I didn’t realize you were down here. Did you enjoy your lie-in?’ she asks.

A yoga mat slung over her shoulder, kept snug in a handmade silk bag, a present from Mike no doubt, or Benji perhaps, her teacher.

‘Yes thank you.’

‘What are you up to? If you’re interested, you could come to yoga with me?’

Legs, thin like a locust’s, shiny in Lycra pulled tight up her crotch. Vagina lips. Outlined. Shaved, probably. She’s not shy.

‘No thanks, I’ve got loads of schoolwork to do – everybody seems so ahead at Wetherbridge.’

‘I wouldn’t worry, you’ll soon catch up. Will you be all right on your own? I can stay if you like?’

‘No, it’s fine.’

‘I’ll be back in about an hour and a half if you fancy doing something then?’

‘I think I’m meeting a friend.’

‘Somebody from school?’

‘Yes.’

She looks at a watch on her wrist that doesn’t exist. Keen to leave.

‘I should go,’ she says.

Halfway out the door she is, when I call to her.

‘Saskia.’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t like to ask, I know you and Mike have already been so kind, but would I be able to have some money, in case I want to buy a hot chocolate or something?’

‘Sure, of course, let me grab my purse. We should sort out an allowance for you, Phoebe has one. I’ll speak to Mike tonight.’

I walk towards her in the porch.

‘Will twenty do?’

I nod.

‘Here you go.’

‘Thank you, enjoy yoga.’

‘Will do.’

‘And Benji.’

‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘Be bendy.’

‘Right,’ she replies.

There’ll be butterflies in her tummy as she backs the car out of the drive. Stop being paranoid, she’ll say to herself. Only she’s right to be, because try as I might, sometimes I can’t help myself.

When it’s time, I head to the bottom of the garden to meet Morgan. I unlocked the gate the night after I gave her my phone which is how she must have discovered the fire escape that leads up to my balcony. She’s in a hurry to leave, wants to take me somewhere.

‘Put up your hood,’ she says. ‘Follow me.’

When we get to the end of the close, we cross over the road and enter the estate she lives on. We’re immediately dwarfed by the buildings, a few people around but nobody bats an eye. Lights on in some of the windows, the late-afternoon sky darkening a little. Balconies stacked high with children’s bikes, washing machines and junk.

‘Hurry up, slow coach,’ she says.

We walk to the tower block furthest into the estate, arrive at a set of stairs round the back.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

‘All the way up,’ and she points to the top of the building. ‘Race you.’

She takes off first, but I soon catch her. Sixteen flights, no lights on the stairs, a door at the top, cobalt paint peeling off, the colour stands out from the grey concrete of the walls. We pause to catch our breath, smile at each other. She takes down her hood, I do the same.

‘Come on,’ she says.

She opens the door, the wind greets us with lust as we step out. Races up and over, crazy hard licks. She takes my sleeve, pulls me to the left. As we get closer to the edge of the roof I can see the world below. Cars and buses, people, no clue at all that we’re up here watching them. She points to a part of the railing that’s missing, says, be careful.

I nod. We walk towards a big air vent, a giant propeller encased in ribbed squares.

‘Less windy here,’ she says.

There’s broken glass on the floor next to the vent, an empty Coke bottle. A plastic crate, two, maybe more. Cigarette butts scattered around. Ugly, yet beautiful, a place to be anonymous.

‘Who comes up here?’

‘Hardly anyone, just me usually. I don’t live in this block but sometimes I come here to get away.’

I understand what she means, the need to get away sometimes. Often.

‘How’s the phone?’ I ask her.