The Flatshare(23)

The phone rings, which is odd, because I wasn’t aware we had a phone. At first I go for my mobile, but my ringtone is a jingly happy tune from right down the list of those available from Samsung, not the retro ring ring that’s currently singing out from somewhere invisible in the living room.

I eventually track down a landline on the kitchen counter, under one of Mr Prior’s scarves and a string of notes about whether or not Leon used up all the butter (he totally did).

A landline! Who knew! I thought landlines were just relics you paid for in order to get broadband.

‘Hello?’ I try tentatively.

‘Oh, hey,’ says the guy at the other end. He sounds surprised (presumably I am more female than he had expected) and has a weird accent – kind of half Irish, half Londoner.

‘It’s Tiffy,’ I offer. ‘Leon’s flatmate.’

‘Ey! Hi!’ He seems to have been greatly cheered by this fact. ‘And don’t you mean bedmate?’

‘We prefer flatmate,’ I say, wincing.

‘Fair play,’ he says, and somehow I can sort of hear that he’s grinning. ‘Well, nice to meet you, Tiffy. I’m Richie. Leon’s brother.’

‘Pleased to meet you too, Richie.’ I didn’t know Leon had a brother. But then I suppose there are probably an enormous number of things I don’t know about Leon, even if I do know what he’s reading before bed at the moment (The Bell Jar, very slowly). ‘You just missed Leon, I guess. I got in half an hour ago and he was already gone.’

‘The man works too hard,’ Richie says. ‘I didn’t realise it was half five already. What’s your tap-in-tap-out time?’

‘Six, usually, but I got out of work early,’ I say. ‘You could try him on his mobile?’

‘Ah, now you see, Tiffy, I can’t do that,’ Richie says.

I frown. ‘You can’t call his mobile?’

‘To be honest with you, it’s a bit of a long story.’ Richie pauses. ‘Short version is, I’m in a high-security prison, and the only phone number I’ve managed to get set up for me to call is Leon’s home line. Mobiles cost twice as much to call, too, and I earn about fourteen pounds a week in my job cleaning the wing, which by the way I had to pay someone to get me . . . so that doesn’t get me very far.’

I feel a little shell-shocked. ‘Shit!’ I say. ‘That’s awful. Are you all right?’

It just comes out. It’s almost certainly not the right thing to say in the circumstance, but there we are – that’s what I’m thinking, and that’s what comes out of my mouth.

To my surprise – and maybe to his too – Richie starts laughing.

‘I’m all right,’ he says, after a moment. ‘Cheers, though. It’s been seven months now. I guess I’m . . . what is it Leon calls it? Acclimatising. Learning how to live, as well as just get through each minute.’

I nod. ‘Well, that’s something, at least. How is it? On the scale of, you know, Alcatraz to the Hilton?’

He laughs again. ‘Definitely somewhere on that scale, yeah. Whereabouts depends on how I’m feeling day to day. But I’m pretty lucky compared to lots of people, let me tell you that. I have my own cell now, and I can see visitors twice a month.’

It doesn’t seem like he’s lucky from where I’m standing. ‘I don’t want to keep you on the phone if it’s costing you. Did you have a message for Leon?’

There’s a rattling sort of silence at the other end, just the sound of echoing background noise.

‘Aren’t you going to ask what I’m in for, Tiffy?’

‘No,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Do you want to tell me?’

‘Yeah, a bit. But normally people ask.’

I shrug. ‘It’s not my place to judge – you’re Leon’s brother, and you rang to talk to him. And anyway, we were talking about how horrible prison is, and that’s true regardless of what you did. Everyone knows prison doesn’t work. Right?’

‘Right – I mean, do they?’

‘Oh, sure.’

More silence.

‘I’m in for armed robbery. But I didn’t do it.’

‘God. I’m sorry. This is really shit, then.’

‘Pretty much, yeah,’ Richie says. He waits. And then he asks, ‘Do you believe me?’

‘I don’t even know you. Why does it matter?’

‘I don’t know. It just . . . does.’

‘Well, I need some of the facts before I say I believe you. It wouldn’t mean much otherwise, would it?’

‘That’s my message for Leon then. Tell him I’d like him to give you the facts, so you can tell me if you believe me.’

‘Hang on.’ I reach for a pad of Post-its and a pen. ‘Hi Leon,’ I say, reading as I write. ‘This is a message from Richie. He says . . .’

‘I’d like Tiffy to know what happened to me. I want her to believe I didn’t do it. She seems like a very nice lady, and I bet she’s pretty to boot, you can just tell man, she’s got that kind of voice – deep and sexy, you know the—’

I’m laughing. ‘I’m not writing that!’

‘How far did you get?’