Page 86 of The Man Upstairs

“Mum gets back early in the morning from her night shift,” I said. “Maybe I should be there when she gets back? I don’t want her to find out rumours from Trisha, because she will. Trisha will have been digging for ammunition all day. She’ll use whatever she can get as soon as she can get it.”

Julian started, upright.

“Shit, Rosie, I need to talk to you about that.”

He looked horrified, like he was about to reveal a huge crime.

“What?” I asked. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

He stubbed his cigarette out and joined me on the sofa, his towel still around his waist.

“I should have told you much sooner, I’m sorry,” he said. “I had an, um… encounter today, at the supermarket checkout.”

“An encounter?”

“With Trisha.”

Oh fuck.My stomach dropped.

“Ok, sure, right,” I blustered. “Did she say anything? Did she do anything? I know she can be an asshole.”

My brain was whirring, trying to work through a zillion different spectacles as he took a breath.

“She wasn’t an asshole. Rude and over familiar, yes, but not an asshole. She did however see that I was purchasing some unusual supplies for a man living on his own. She passed some comments.”

“What supplies?”

“Things I was buying for you. Toiletries, mainly. She was clearly suspicious, and those suspicions were clearly pointed.” He sighed. “I’m truly sorry. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I didn’t want to shatter the quiet time. I thought it might wait until morning.”

But it wouldn’t wait until morning. It never would if it was Trisha.

“I’d better check my phone,” I told him, and got to my feet, scouting out the room for it. Coffee table, no. Side of the sofa, no.

“My apologies again,” Julian said. “Rosie, sit down. I’m sure we’ll have a window, no? I just wanted to make you prepared for her.”

I was still looking for my phone. Windowsill, no… Ah, there it was, on the cabinet by the TV, and it was flashing. I had a message waiting for me.

Damn it. It wasn’t one message, it was five. All from Mum.

Julian must have seen my face drop. He shifted in his seat.

“Are you ok, sweetheart? What is it?”

I sat back down and handed him my phone, messages on screen.

“Trisha never holds back,” I said. “Even the slightest whiff of suspicion and she’d have been all over it like a rash. Sanitary towels and my hand on a banister rail may as well equal criminal evidence for her. Certainly worth gossip.

Poor Julian had underestimated Trisha’s small-mindedness. He was horrified. He looked from my face to the phone screen and back again.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry,” he said again, and I felt shit for him. He would have had no idea how just a few short hours would lead to half of the estate speculating, not least my mum.

It seemed Trisha had done a good job with it. Mum’s messages were frantic.

Trisha saw you heading upstairs earlier, was that to Bertie? She saw Julian in the store and he was getting sanitary towels, and I know it’s your time of the month, Rosie. Be honest, are you up there? Are you fucking Julian?

Her last one said it all.

You are, aren’t you? So, are you coming down here or am I coming up there? Your choice, but you’d better make it soon. I just called in sick to work.