Page 2

Chapter Two

T he following morning, as I made Grandma her breakfast and sipped a cup of tea, I pondered on the stranger. There was something compelling about him, but also scary. I shivered as I thought of him and wondered about the authenticity of his statement, unable to decide if I should write a list of faults in the property, just in case he owned it and was going to send someone. He had made good on replacing my food, so…

After I’d settled Grandma back in her bed in the living room, I sat at the kitchen table and wrote all the things wrong with the property. The leaking guttering that meant Grandma couldn’t use her bedroom upstairs because it was damp and mouldy. The heating and hot water not working full time, how the lock on the front door was sticking and that it didn’t shut without slamming and causing the surrounding plaster to crack. I gave good reasons why these things should be repaired. I’d never missed a rent payment in the two years Grandma and I had lived there. I nodded to myself once I’d finished. If a repairman didn’t turn up, I’d be calling at his offices, for sure.

I was about to head to college when there was a knock at the door. For the second time, I was stunned. Standing on the step was a maintenance man wearing a t-shirt with the landlord’s logo on it.

“You have problems?” he asked.

“Lots, I hope you’re here for the day,” I replied, stepping aside, and letting him in, knowing I wouldn’t make college.

While I made him a cup of tea, he read all the faults I wanted looking at.

“Okay, I was told to fix everything needed, regardless. But I’ll have to call a plumber for the boiler.” He looked around. “I can’t believe you’ve been living like this. You have complained, haven’t you?”

“Many times and have been ignored many times. I was going to withhold my rent this month if I didn’t get a response.”

I’d already spoken to the housing advice officer at my college and although they advised against withholding rent, they had said I could deduct any costs if I felt the landlord wasn’t repairing what they were legally obliged to. Of course, they had also said I’d need to get an agreement for that, but I was pig-headed. I had planned to find a repairman, pay him, but then send the bill to the landlord for effect.

I sat with Grandma sipping tea and listening to her stories of the past, stories I’d heard thousands of times but ones that kept her alive as far as I was concerned, while the repairman did this thing. A couple of hours later, a boiler engineer joined him, along with someone in a suit.

“Ruby, this is James. He’s our surveyor. I’m not happy about the mould. It’s black mould, and that’s dangerous,” he said to us both.

“It would have to be tested to be verified,” James replied.

“Bollocks to that, you know damn well I know what I’m talking about,” the maintenance guy said.

It seemed a row was about to happen between them.

“If it’s black mould, I want rehousing. My Grandma has dementia, she’s not well. I don’t want her exposed to anything dangerous. I’m at college and I work three jobs to pay for this place,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

I’d heard of black mould. It was no wonder Grandma constantly had lung and chest infections.

“If you don’t sort this, you can tell your boss I’ll be going to the press. ”

James smiled at me, a false pacifying smile, and I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” he said, but I highly doubted he would. “Let’s get sorted what we can, and I’ll report back,” he added, turning his attention back to the repairman.

With a nod to me, James left.

“He will, you know. The boss has told us to do whatever it is you want.”

“The boss?”

“Mr. Wolfe. Sebastian Wolfe is his name. Never met him myself, though. He doesn’t speak to us lowly operatives. How do you know him?”

“I don’t… not really.” I hesitated with my answer. I didn’t want the repairman to think I didn’t know Mr. Wolfe in case he decided not to take the instruction to do ‘whatever was needed’ seriously. Equally, I didn’t want him to think we were best friends, either.

“No one really knows him, from what I understand,” the repairman said.

I wasn’t particularly interested in talking about Mr. Wolfe, and I certainly wasn’t interested in having a conversation with the man meant to be working. I’d offered him tea and biscuits and now I wanted him to get on with fixing the door. He’d already done the scratching under his chin and sighing thing I’d expected, talking about how we needed new windows as if he was a salesman and I’d be paying for them.

“Well, one of us has work to do. So, I’ll leave you to it,” I said, heading into the living room and Grandma. I had books I could go through to keep up with my college work.

I could hear him chuckle, and I was sure he called me spunky ! I screwed my nose at the thought.

I sat with Grandma while she watched her game shows and clapped along when she knew the correct answer. I knew there would come a time when I’d need help and the daily carer, Monica, who came to us already wouldn’t be enough. Monica and I had talked about care homes, but I wasn’t ready, and Grandma sure wasn’t, either. We were managing, even if I was exhausted all the damn time.

I picked up a college book. I’d flunked out of school, scraping through basic Maths and English. I’d had too many other issues to deal with; a missing father and money for one, plus a sick relative to care for. It was only when a sympathetic teacher discovered my situation one day that I got a place in college. I wanted to be an architect. I loved buildings and structure, but I needed some serious studying and resitting of exams before I could get into university.

As I read and wrote, Grandma answered the most random questions on a quiz show .

Some time later, the repairman announced he’d done all he could. The boilerman followed shortly after, telling me that although he’d got the heating and hot water to work, I needed a new boiler. I asked him to inform the owner of the property since I wouldn’t be replacing it myself.

With the men gone and a mess left in their wake, I set about to make some dinner. Well, I reheated the last of the Chinese we hadn’t eaten the previous evening.

As I sat at the table and ate, I thought about Mr. Wolfe. His piercing blue eyes and skin tone suggested Nordic roots, but his dark wavy hair didn’t fit. I chuckled as I remembered I thought his teeth were so perfectly straight and white. Why I noticed them, I wasn’t sure. I raised my spoon before taking the last mouthful in salute of him. A silent thank you for a delicious meal that I’d never have been able to afford without him.

I had settled Grandma in bed. She’d pulled her blankets up to her chin and smiled with teary eyes.

“I need to go in a home,” she said, and for the first time in a long while, her voice had clarity. It stopped me in my tracks .

“Sorry, Grandma?” I asked, wanting her to repeat her sentence.

“You look just like my granddaughter, Ruby,” she replied, and I smiled at her.

“You’ve said.”

“She’s lovely, is my granddaughter.”

With that, I left her bedroom and sniffed back tears that threatened to fall. There were days when she knew me, but in the evenings, when her brain was tired, she’d forget. It was called ‘Sundowning’ and is common with dementia. As the days came to a close, the victim tired and their memory clouded further.

Victim. Monica, who the dementia charity had sent, used to chastise me for using that word, but it was exactly what I thought of Grandma. Dementia was a terrible illness, and she was a victim. She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t sought it out, it had chosen her. But every now and again, like half a minute before, the cloud in her brain would clear briefly and the old Grandma would reappear.

I angrily wiped at my tears knowing my eyes would be red rimmed. I was an ugly crier, for sure. I’d always longed to be the Disney Princess type, one that could just dab a delicate piece of material to the corner of their eyes. No, me? I’d have a red nose, snot, and blotchy cheeks. And if I really got going, puffy lips and eyelids to boot.

As I sat at the kitchen table, I slid one of my college books towards me. I wasn’t in the mood but knew I had to catch up on a day missed. I had an assignment to hand in. Instead, I moved to my drawing pad and flipped it open.

All the drawings were of buildings. All different types from my dream cottage in the woods, a residential home (the one I’d buy with my lottery win so my grandma and others like her could live in luxury), to the skyscraper in the city.

I turned to my dream cottage in the woods.

Solitude should have been my middle name, and I wondered if my fondness for all things dark and quiet were because my childhood was so loud. My parents argued like the proverbial cat and dog. There were always parties and drunkenness. They often left drugs just in reach of childish hands, and houses, not homes, were a constant mess. It was no wonder my mother eventually died. Why I hankered after a father that facilitated her drug and alcohol abuse was beyond me.

My cottage in the woods was peaceful, surrounded by nature and the protection of trees—the lungs of the earth, I called them, and ones that cleansed. It was the cleansing that I needed for a long time.

At my birth, drugs and alcohol had flooded my system, not that I remember, of course. As a child, I had ingested cocaine and was rushed to the hospital. Social Services was non-existent back then, or they certainly were in my case. It was only when my grandmother intervened, I started to live a normal life. I’ll forever be grateful to her. If she hadn’t, I’d be dead, too.

As I sat with my drawing pad, I drew internal rooms. I wanted a large kitchen to be the heart of the home. I planned Grandma’s room and her ensuite bathroom knowing she’d never use it. And unless I got my money, I’d never build it, either.

I was so engrossed in my fantasy home that I when I heard a knock on the door, it startled me. I picked up my phone automatically, knowing the shattered screen wouldn’t show me the clock clearly enough. I frowned.

I crept to the front door and listened. A second knock came, more forceful than the first. I pulled the front door open fast.

“What?” I demanded before I clocked who was standing there.

“And a good evening to you,” he answered.

“Huh?”

“Good evening,” he repeated.

Standing on my doorstep with a brown paper bag smelling of hot food was Mr. Wolfe.

“What’s the time, Mr. Wolfe?” I demanded.

“What’s the time?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

“A simple question.” I placed my hands on my hips to show I wasn’t messing around .

Mr. Wolfe looked at his watch. “Just gone ten.”

“Do you think that’s an appropriate time to knock on my door? I could be in my pyjama’s, or in bed.”

I grew frustrated at the smirk that grew across his face and once again, noticed his perfect teeth.

“I hadn’t realised the time. Please, accept my apologies.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I was working and hungry and wondered if you might like to join me for dinner.”

“It’s too late for me to leave the house,” I said, and as much as I didn’t want to, I looked over my shoulder.

“Your grandmother is sick, I hear?”

“Well, I don’t know who you heard that from and I’d ask you to tell them to keep their nose out of my business, although I assume it’s your staff reporting back. Why?”

“Because I asked them to. Now, this is getting cold, would you like to join me in eating it? I’m happy to sit on your doorstep, if you’d prefer.”

Although I had already eaten, whatever was in the bag was calling to me and I wasn’t wealthy enough to turn down a free meal. I stepped aside and let Mr. Wolfe enter.

Squeezing past him, I led the way to the kitchen. He placed the bag onto the kitchen table and picked up my drawing book before I could get to it myself .

“This is really good,” he said, his voice rising slightly, as if in surprise.

I held out my hand to take the book back. “A silly dream,” I said.

Mr. Wolfe stepped back, taking the book with him. He flicked through the pages. “This is really good. You have a talent for architectural drawing, Ruby.”

I didn’t recall giving him my name the night before, but I doubted it would be hard to find. I was on the rental agreement. Something stirred inside me, a flutter in my stomach, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wasn’t used to being praised other than by my technical drawing lecturer, who also believed I had a talent.

“Is that what you want to do?” He finally closed the book and handed it back to me.

“I’d like to be an architect, eventually. That’s providing I don’t lose my jobs, or my landlord puts my rent up and I can’t afford to go to uni.”

I made an effort to smile slightly. I didn’t want him to think I was a total cow. Smiling wasn’t something I did often. Grandma used to remind me.

He laughed, and the sound startled me. It was a gravelly laugh, and one that hit me at my very core.

“Let’s hope that horrid landlord of yours remembers that. Now, shall we eat? I’m hungry,” he said, flashing his teeth .

He set about to empty the bag, putting delicious smelling tin foil dishes on the table. I grabbed a couple of plates and forks. When he has done, he indicated to a chair.

“What?” I asked, already sitting and opening lids.

“May I?”

His level of politeness startled me. It was a complete contrast to his looks. He had that alpha-arsehole vibe going on. I waved to the chair as I took a mouthful of food.

“This is gorgeous,” I said, remembering to at least cover my mouth as I spoke with it full of food.

“Japanese. One of my favourites.”

For a moment, while we continued to help ourselves, we were silent, and I could study him. He was a very attractive man, older than me, obviously, and… I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about him. Power. Money. Good looks. Maybe not that, but something else. Something predatory that had me intrigued, although the fluttering wasn’t masking the red flags waving beside them.

“This is odd, don’t you think?” I said.

“What is?”

“Us. Sitting here eating when we don’t know each other at all. In fact, if you intend to kill me, at least I’m thankful, I’ll go with a belly full of nice food. Just don’t piss off and leave my grandma on her own, yeah? ”

He chuckled, a deep throaty sound. “I promise to call the authorities and take care of Grandma.”

“But not promise not to kill me?” I laughed, but then stopped abruptly. I didn’t know the man sitting in my house and for a moment, nerves for the better of me.

“I promise not to kill you. Is that better?” He laid his fork down and smiled at me.

“You must have a great dentist,” I blurted out.

He frowned. “A…?”

“Sorry, that was a dumb comment. You have great teeth,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly but knowing my cheeks were flaming with embarrassment.

He stared at me. “All the better to eat…” He tailed off, not finishing his sentence, and I swallowed hard.

I coughed, clearing my throat. “Well, that was lovely, but I think I need to… you know? Catch up with college and… whatever.”

He nodded and smiled but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thank you for your company and joining me for dinner.”

I wanted to stay in the kitchen, but I also didn’t want to be rude. I rose and followed him to the front door. “I appreciated the meal. Thank you.”

He nodded once more, and I pulled open the front door. It was cold and drizzling out. A low-lying mist had formed. He slipped on his overcoat and flipped up the collar, tucking his chin inside .

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t look back as he walked down the path and out into the street. I stood for a moment, watching as he disappeared into the fog, and then closed the door. I leaned against it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.

The words… All the better to eat... ran through my mind as I cleared up, causing my core to pulse with want and need. I hoped the missing part of his sentence was you with.

Mr. Wolfe, I thought, a man who would most certainly live up to his name.