Page 11 of The Man Upstairs

She and Rosie had seemed well enough, all things considered. I felt a surprising amount of relief for two women I’d met only yesterday. Especially for sweet Rosie. I couldn’t bear the idea of her getting hurt.

I lit up a cigarette at my window. I was still smoking as I heard Beverly’s laughter, loud enough that I could hear it two floors up. She was with the resident from apartment number four. A woman named Trisha, I believe. She’d been turning her nose up at me at every opportunity since I’d moved in, and she appeared to be that kind of angry, self-righteous character. Not a good mix. But maybe it was only me she regarded with such hostility.

Beverly sounded happy, still laughing as she took Trisha’s arm and they set off up the street together. It was a stark contrast to last night when she’d looked like she was on the edge of hell. She wasn’t bad looking. She shared the same fine, mousy brown hair as her daughter and her eyes were the same lovely almost pastel tone of blue, minus the cute glasses. And she was curvy as opposed to Rosie’s skinny frame, but her appearance didn’t change a thing for me. I was already feeling the apprehension of her invitation.

I didn’t want to have dinner with Beverly, and I most certainly didn’t want to have dinner with her daughter. It would be a blazing fire, too easily stoked. Christ, I was getting a hard-on just thinking about it. About her. Rosie, pushing her glasses up her nose, asking me if my Sunday roast meat was ok. Perfect, I’d reply, hiding my own bloody hard meat beneath the table. Fuck it. I needed a distraction.

I browsed through my stack of mindless ready meals in the fridge. What was it to be – pasta or pasta or pasta?

A rapping at the front door made me start. It also made my flesh tingle. I couldn’t imagine anyone else standing there other than sweet little Rosie. I didn’t exactly have a queue of visitors that came calling.

I hovered, battling with the idea of pretending I wasn’t at home, until the rapping got louder. A nasty shiver of a question rattled my senses.

What if I had seen Scottie lurking?

What if he’d hung around until Beverly left and pounced on Rosie?

What if she needed me?

More rapping on the door and I found myself smoothing down my hair and straightening my tie with my heart pounding all over again.

I opened the door to the sweetest ray of sunshine.

“Rosie, what a surprise.”

She was dressed for her shift at the pizza house, with her tight white t-shirt, and the green cap on her head. She looked so beautiful. An angelic little temptress. She just didn’t know it.

“Hey,” she said, shifting awkwardly. “I just wanted to pop up and say thanks again.”

She was lying. I could read it in the drop of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks. I was coming to know her in such a short time. I realised then, as I watched her, her glasses were too loose, that’s why she had to keep pushing them up her nose. It only added to her cuteness – and my burgeoning hard-on – as she did it again.

“You’re very welcome,” I told her, already planning to say my goodbye, but she pre-empted me. She held up one of her dainty hands with await.

“It’s just, um…” she began, then smiled an embarrassed smile. “I just wanted to check something with you… about my mum.”

My stomach dropped. I hoped it was nothing sinister.

“Please…” Rosie continued, chancing a glance behind me. “Can I come in for a minute? I just don’t want to share it out here. People spread rumours, you know?”

Yes, I did know. I knew it all too well.

I rarely ever saw the old couple down the corridor or the guy on crutches in the apartment opposite, but I respected her privacy all the same. Against my better judgement, I stepped aside to let her pass, breathing in her heady scent – coconut shampoo, I think.

My living room put the shoddiness of hers to shame, and that was quite a statement. I tried to clear my strewn paperwork from the coffee table as her eyes wandered around. Thank fuck it wasn’t my pile of farewell letters on view.

I’d furnished this place from charity shops and second-hand warehouses on the outskirts of the city, telling myself I wouldn’t be needing it for long, not once I mustered up the courage. Every single item was both essential and practically worthless. She looked surprised at that, which shocked me. I felt bizarrely embarrassed myself.

I didn’t offer Rosie a cup of tea, or even a seat as she stood there. Her fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of her, and she looked so beautifully tongue-tied.

I decided to break the ice for her. “Is that idiot still hounding your mother?”

“No, no. Not yet,” she said. “I mean, he will, but not yet. He’ll leave it least a few days before he tries. Unless she tries him first, which she won’t do. She definitely won’t do.”

I loved her adoring ramble.

“That’s a relief to hear. What was it you wanted to check?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose yet again, one finger, right on the bridge, looking so nervous it made me smile. “The thing is, my mum is amazing, and I just wanted to tell you that she means it, about the dinner. She’d really like to cook you a meal to show her thanks.”