The Lover's Children novel Chapter 106

PAT

Snarling, I kick at her door, just to see the look of surprise on the pug-faced old bag. That excuse for a chain wouldn’t keep me out. She shrieks and retreats, slamming the door closed, then bolts behind it.

I’d like to kick the old bitch’s face in. Kick the door in, then her face, but I’ve bigger fish to fry. Banging open Lily’s door, I charge inside…

The coffee table’s still there, but the fruit bowl’s gone. So’s the TV. A few curled-up chick-mags collect dust in the rack, but a lot of the knick-knacks and clutter I sort-of remember are missing.

In the kitchen, the fridge is emptied. The trash can too. In the bedroom the slut-flatmate used, stale-smelling covers are tugged back from a mattress. But Lily’s room is almost stripped. The bed and wardrobe have gone, leaving only a few dents on the carpet to show where they stood. A pair of stained bedside cupboards remain, one with a lamp that must have come from a budget store on a bad day.

Where is she?

Where is she?

Slamming open the drawer of one bedside table, I scrabble through packets of tissues, foil strips of aspirin and ibuprofen and a couple of yellowed paperbacks… Looking for…

… for…

A phone book?

An address book…

Anything to tell me where she might be…

Nothing.

The other cupboards are no more use.

I try the kitchen. In one drawer: a mess of old takeaway menus and supermarket discount coupons. The rest: nothing but some creased up lining paper.

Then I spot it: on the wall, a corkboard, pinned with scraps of paper, jotted phone numbers and business cards: a 24-hour plumber, obviously home printed with one of those off-the-shelf cartoon logos you can download from the internet. A carpenter. The card for a locksmith looks as though it’s been taken down and repinned several times. A hairdresser. One for a nail salon with a scribbled note in biro. Monday 16th. Ask for Gina. Another for Interflora. Mom 26th May.

But one item catches my eye: brand new, thick, high-quality card, with an embossed foil logo and a expensive-looking satiny finish. When I pluck it off the board, it even smells slightly of leather.

It’s for a gym and some luxury spa place out beyond the City.

It… doesn’t fit…

On an impulse, I check the website…

*****

KLEMPNER

I knew he’d turn up. In my gut, I knew it.

Got you, you cowardly little bastard…

He’s betrayed himself now. Until this, I had nothing before I could offer Stanton with any certainty beyond my own gut feeling that I had their target. Now, at the very least, I’ve caught a stalker in the act.

He’s returned, as I was sure he would, staking out the apartment. But I was here first, waiting.

Getting careless…

Didn’t even close the door properly…

Suppressing the urge to grin, I drain the last of the water bottle I’ve been nursing for the last two hours, get out of my car and follow…

… then pause…

Backtracking a few steps, four quick stabs of my knife into the tires ensure that Hoodie won’t be making a quick getaway by that route. This time, I don’t suppress the grin. Instead, padding quietly to the door, I let myself in. There’s no need even to force the lock. He’s saved me the trouble.

It’s no picture postcard inside, poorly maintained and long overdue for renovation. And with no air con, it's oppressively hot.

All the girl can afford, I suppose.

Three flights up and along a corridor: two doors face each other, one standing open.

I’d thought to go charging in, but on second thoughts…

Get a confession out of him?

Maybe…

Easing the door open, I step inside. A faded living space showing all the signs of a hasty evacuation, Michael’s work, I assume. No one’s in sight, but from a door off to one side, I hear movement. Treading softly across worn carpet, I follow the sound.

It’s the kitchen. He’s there, his back turned to me, rummaging through drawers and cupboards, producing only the kind of discarded junk you might find in a garage sale.

“Something I can help you with?”

He spins, eyes narrowed, a cracked plastic colander clutched in one hand. And now I get my first really good look at him.

Close up…

No hood…

Clear daylight…

Mousy hair. Average face. Eyes the thin blue of chipped china.

He’s nondescript to the point of being faceless.

No wonder I didn’t recognise you…

“Who the fuck are you?” he snaps.

And you still don’t recognise me…