The Face That Must Die

Chapter XXVI

“ Where were you?” Peter demanded.

Should she tell him? Her tale would sound absurd. Even if she held his attention, the ending would hardly be worth it. “Looking at houses,” she said.

He turned back to The Incredible Hulk. “There’s one I haven’t looked at yet,” she said. “Come and see it now.”

Might her chase have allowed someone else to beat them to it? Her frustration made her persuasive. “Oh, all right,” he grumbled at last.

The fog was lifting intermittently. The van sped through its gaps. People were coming home from work; she watched houses light up. Pavements glistened like tar beneath streetlamps.

As she’d thought, the house was near the football ground. Dead floodlights towered above the tiers of seats. On the corner of the side street, a window was blocked by ripples of tin like a Venetian blind – but on the upper storey, light shone through curtains. She knew how it felt to live over emptiness.

The advertised house didn’t look bad. An arch of bricks framed the front door; alternate bricks were painted brightly. The door opened onto the pavement, but she hadn’t expected a garden. It looked a snug little house – they could make something of it. Not until she struggled to lift the knocker did she realise how rusty it was.

The echoes of its slow thuds died away. Were more echoes returning, or were those sounds footsteps? The door juddered open, revealing an old man in a suit and dressing-gown. His face was shrunken close to the bone, and looked small and timidly hopeful, like a little boy’s.

“ Are you for the house?” he said eagerly. “It’ll be just the job for you, I can tell.”

He trotted backwards, making way for them. The hall was dim; well, they needn’t keep it so. Were all the vague blurs on the walls shadows? Peter touched one and examined moisture on his hand.

“ Here’s the living-room.” Within, a small fire coughed thickly. Cathy understood now why the old man wore so many clothes; she shivered. She would make the house warmer.

“ It’s been a good little house.” The old man rested one hand on a framed photograph of a family; he was the father. The frame and its glass were free of the dust which sprinkled the room. “But it’s too big for one person alone,” he said.

He turned to Peter; this was man’s talk. “The rates are a bit high for me. They’re very reasonable. They’d be no trouble if I were your age.”

Cathy didn’t quite see why that should make a difference. Behind the scenes she thought she heard rodents moving. “Let’s see the rest,” Peter demanded.

She frowned at his rudeness – or was she less anxious now to view the rest? They followed the old man. The kitchen walls were sweaty; a table hardly wider than a chair stood beside a protruding sink. “You could have a dining-table in here,” said the old man hopefully.

He led the way upstairs. Peter stepped aside to tread on a board under the staircase; it leapt up, exposing an earthy hollow like a grave. Dust hung swaying from a lampshade above the stairs and made the flex thick and furry as a caterpillar.

“ This is the married bedroom.” The old man sounded wistful. Half of the double bed was bare; rust outlined the nuts and bolts of its frame.

He leaned on the headboard, smiling like a salesman, as if they must be persuaded by now.

“ What’s in here?” said Peter on the landing.

“ Oh, that’s another room. It needs a few things doing.” The old man hurried towards him; the floor broke into a chorus of creaks. Peter held open the door for Cathy to see. Beneath a ragged tear that displayed wooden ribs, a heap of plaster lay on paper fallen from the ceiling. The walls streamed.

In the living-room, the old man said “How does it look to you?”

His hopefulness was dismaying, for it seemed to contain no pretence. Peter waited impatiently in the hall. “We’ll have to think about it,” Cathy said trying to be gentle. “But – I’m afraid it isn’t quite what we’re looking for.”

“ Well, never mind.” Was his smile meant to reassure her, or himself? “I understand,” he said. “It’s a bit small if you’re planning to have children.”

Peter was hurrying to the van. “So much for that,” he said triumphantly. “If that’s all we can afford it’s not worth looking.” She didn’t bother keeping up with him. Let him wait. He was only hurrying to roll another joint.