Darkmans

‘Ring ‘em,’ Kelly offered constructively.

‘Can’t. Haven’t got my phone on me.’

Kelly removed her own phone from her pocket.

‘What’s the number?’

‘Don’t know off-hand.’

‘Oh.’

Kelly put her phone away again.

The woman glanced up, remembering her manners. ‘But thanks, anyway,’ she murmured.

Kelly graciously tipped her head, then peered over towards the Villas. There were eight of them; grand; free-standing; Victorian. For the most part converted into flats – or ‘apartments’ as the twatty local Estate Agents liked to have it.

‘You come to see that black geezer in apartment six?’ she asked.

‘Why?’ the woman rejoined staunchly. ‘Do people always visit residents the same colour as they are?’

Kelly pursed her lips. The woman removed the strap of a heavy-looking, leather satchel (the kind Kelly associated with teachers and social workers –

Yeah. That’d be right)

– from her shoulder and drew another step closer. ‘You’re one of the Broad girls, aren’t you?’ she said, her eyes slitting slightly as she gazed up at her.

Kelly slitted her own eyes right back. ‘So what?’

‘I was at school with your brother.’

Kelly didn’t seem surprised by this information (like nits and the weather, the Broads got everywhere).

‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Jase?’

‘No. Paul.’

Kelly looked blank.

‘Paul,’ the woman reiterated slowly (which Kelly strongly resented), ‘the devil worshipper.’

Kelly tossed her head. ‘Satanist,’ she pronounced scornfully, ‘and it was only a joke, anyways.’

The woman nodded. ‘I knew that.’

Kelly jutted her chin out, just the same. She looked uncomfortable. The woman observed her disquiet.

‘So how’s he been doing lately?’ she asked.

Kelly gave her a hard look, then, ‘Fine,’ she said.

‘Is he still handing out shoes at the bowling?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh. Moved on to better things, eh?’

Kelly tried – and failed – to detect any traces of irony in her voice. She glared at her, but said nothing.

‘Well give him my best, if you see him,’ the woman continued staunchly, almost (but not entirely) running out of conversational impetus. ‘My name’s Winifred. I was his partner in biology. We dissected a cow’s eye together once – had a right laugh – before I transferred to Highworth in the fourth year.’

‘Highworth,’ Kelly rejoined bitchily, ‘well ain’t that lovely?’

Silence

Kelly inspected her nails (bitten down to the quick) then neatly laced her fingers together. ‘I don’t see him that much,’ she said primly, ‘he moved to Readin’.’

‘Reading?’

Far from being mollified by this information, Winifred’s appetite for news seemed freshly enlivened by it. ‘Really?’

Kelly scowled. ‘Yeah.’

‘Reading, huh?’ She mulled this over for a moment. ‘Well good on him. Because let’s face it,’ she raised her brows, censoriously, ‘no one was ever gonna to give him a proper break around here, eh?’ She hesitated for a second (then promptly threw caution to the wind). ‘Least of all your psychotic, bloody sister…’

Kelly shrugged (she just didn’t want to go there). Winifred took another step closer.

‘So can you actually scramble down the other side of that thing?’

‘What thing?’

‘The wall.’

‘Oh…’

Kelly glanced boredly behind her. ‘Dunno. Maybe.’

‘I know it’s a bit cheeky,’ the woman wheedled (flashing that charming smile again), ‘but would you mind taking someone a message for me?’

Kelly’s eye-lids lowered, ominously. ‘Man, do I look like your personal fuckin’ courier or what?’

Winifred’s smile did not falter. It continued blazing. She was shameless, Kelly surmised –

All credit to her for that

– so she lifted up her legs and grumpily slung them over. ‘Which block?’

‘First Villa, flat three.’