The Killer Next Door(6)
He shuffles over to the window, pushes back the half-closed polyester curtains and throws up the lower sash. She’s pleased to see that it moves easily, as though the groove in which it runs has received a recent application of lubricant. The increased light does little to improve the prospect before her, though. Every surface is covered with dust, and the unchanged bedclothes look grubby and worn.
‘I’ll get someone in to bag it all up,’ he says, and jangles his keys. ‘It shouldn’t take too long.’
Collette perches on the edge of the armchair – she doesn’t want to sit in it fully until she’s given it a proper inspection – and tucks the bag behind her feet. ‘It’s okay. I’ll take it and I’ll sort it out. It’s nothing a few bin liners and a vacuum cleaner won’t fix.’
The Landlord raises his eyebrows.
‘Oh, sorry,’ says Collette. ‘I didn’t think. Unless you… you know…’ she waves a hand over the abandoned junk, the tiny TV, the pile of George at Asda dresses, ‘… yourself…’
He looks so offended that she knows immediately that this was exactly what he had been planning, and that, now the option has been cut off, offence is his only option. She gazes at him innocently. ‘I mean, I… I guess some of it could go to a charity shop or something.’
The Landlord huffs and turns away. ‘I doubt it,’ he says.
‘So.’ The bag is burning a hole in her ankle. She wants some quiet, some space to get her head together, and get it hidden away. ‘How about it, then?’
She sees him startle. Fuck’s sake, he thinks I’m propositioning him! Just look at you, man. It’s astonishing how some men can believe they’re gods among men even when they’re standing next to a mirror. ‘The room?’ she adds, hastily. ‘Can I have it?’
He knows he’s got the upper hand. No one who had any options would be offering to move in on some stranger’s discarded knickers, their unwashed crockery. ‘Depends,’ he says.
No way, she thinks.
‘What with the no references, I’ll need a bigger deposit. You know. For security. I’m not a charity. I’m already out a month on this little…’ He gestures round the room, at the evidence of the hasty departure.
Collette blinks: once, twice. Waits.
‘And no cheques,’ he says. ‘I’ll need it in cash. Like the rent. I’ve done enough bouncing cheques to last me a lifetime.’
‘That’s okay,’ she says. ‘I guessed that would be the case. Is the extra month not enough, then?’
He stands there, pretends to consider the question. She should have held back, earlier. He’s got the measure of how few choices she has available. ‘Six weeks,’ he says, ‘on top of the normal deposit. And the rent’s in advance.’
‘So that’s…’ she says, thinking. She’s got two grand in her bra, counted out from the bag in her hotel room this morning. She didn’t think she could possibly need more, even in this market.
‘Twenty-one hundred,’ he says. ‘And you don’t move in until I’ve got it.’
She takes a deep breath. It’s okay, Collette, she tells herself. He’s not going to mug you. Not in his own house. But, Jesus, he’s making Paris look like a holiday camp.
‘I can give you two grand now. I’ll have to go to the cashpoint for the rest tomorrow.’
His tongue runs across his lips and he shifts on the spot. Cash clearly has a near-erotic effect on him. He narrows his eyes at her, and licks his lips again.
She stands up and turns her back. She has no wish to put her hand near her breasts in view of this grubby old lecher. But it’s perfect, the room. It’s off the radar in every way. No one from her old life would look for her here and she needs this place, needs the time to regroup, see to Janine and work out what she’s going to do next.
The cash is warm, slightly damp from contact with her heat-soaked skin. She turns back and holds the money out. The Landlord pinches it between thumb and forefinger, and stares her in the face. I must hold his gaze. I mustn’t be the one to look down first. If I do, he’ll know he’s the boss and I’ll never see the back of him.
‘I’ll need a receipt for that,’ she says.
Collette closes the door, tries to put the snib down on the flimsy Yalelock. It slides, but doesn’t engage. She waits, her ear pressed against a wooden panel, and listens for the sound of his leaving. Hears him hover in the hall outside, feels the weight of his labouring breath. After a minute or so his shuffling tread moves away, starts slowly up the stairs. He lets out a small grunt as he takes each step.