Chris Simms - Shifting Skin

Fiona felt herself flush slightly. ‘No. I’m, I’m…just in between places at the moment.’

His smile faded as he assessed her answer, eyes shifting to her damaged eyebrow. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘No, that’s fine. So, are you? A student, I mean?’

‘Yeah, I’m doing an MA.’

‘Which subject?’

Now he looked embarrassed. ‘Classical studies. Latin, Greek. Don’t ask why. I think it was my mum’s idea, really. She wants me to be a journalist.’

Fiona smiled. ‘Well, I’d best get sorted out…?’ She raised her eyebrows enquiringly.

‘Oh, it’s Raymond. Raymond Waite.’

‘Nice to meet you, Raymond. I’m Fiona.’ As he carried on up the stairs, she looked with amusement at his cumbersome trainers, complete with little Perspex windows in the thick soles.

Then she opened the door to her room and looked around, refusing to be dismayed by its dour interior. It was hers, that was the important thing. Another small step towards freedom.

She paused to sniff the air. The fusty smell she’d noticed on her first look-around still remained, despite the window being open. She brought her suitcase in, eyes lingering on it, attracted by the bottle of gin inside. Fighting back the temptation to have just one drink, she picked up her handbag instead. Air freshener, bleach and scouring cream were what she needed. The bare mattress on the single bed was patchy with stains. With some difficulty she lifted it up and saw the underside was only worse. As she headed out of the door, she added a duvet, sheets, towels and a new mattress to her list, aware that the cash Melvyn had given her was rapidly running out.

She returned a while later, ferried the smaller things through to her room, then returned to the car and began trying to pull the new mattress out from where it lay across the boot and folded-down back seats.

A first-floor window opened and she heard hip-hop music before a voice said, ‘You need a hand, Fiona?’

She looked up to see Raymond leaning out of the window.

‘Would you mind?’

‘No problem.’

He shuffled round the corner a few seconds later, crouching to tie the laces of his absurd trainers. The oversized tongues lolling from the tops reminded her of a pair of thirsty spaniels.

They carried the mattress through to her room, and placed it by the side of the bed.

‘I don’t know what to do with the old one — it’s disgusting,’ Fiona said.

‘Yeah, I see what you mean,’ Raymond replied. ‘Why not dump it in the cellar? That’s what everyone else seems to do with unwanted stuff.’

‘Do you think it would be all right?’

‘Yeah. Come on, I’ll give you a hand.’

They hauled it off the bed and carried it out into the hall.

Raymond kicked the cellar door open, then pushed the mattress down the short flight of stairs. It came to a lopsided halt at the bottom. He flicked the lights on and carried on down, Fiona following uncertainly behind.

‘There are all sorts down here,’ he said, pointing to the haphazard stacks of boxes. ‘Old clothes, crappy portable televisions, records, textbooks, files of work. Do you need any saucepans? There’s a whole crate of them in that corner.’

Fiona looked around, shoulders hunching up at the sight of the huge cobwebs nestled in the exposed rafters above her head. Raymond tipped the mattress on its side and slid it across the dusty floor into a side room. In the centre of the room was a table with what looked like a stone top.

‘What on earth is that?’ Fiona asked.

Raymond leaned the mattress against it. ‘This house would have been built for a wealthy merchant. This room was the pantry. In the days before fridges, the servants would have stored meat on it.’ He slapped the bare stone with his palm. ‘It’s always cool down here. See the gutter running round it? They’d cover the meat with muslin and ladle water over it occasionally. It would have kept for days.’

Fiona shivered. ‘Well, I never knew that.’

Two hours later, she peeled off her Marigolds and looked around her room. That was more like it. A bunch of flowers on the windowsill; the bed covered by a plump duvet, the creases still showing on its cover.

Once again, she found herself looking at the suitcase. No , she thought. A good vacuuming, that’s what this place needs. She smiled. It was the perfect excuse to call in at the salon. Melvyn wouldn’t mind her borrowing the Dyson.

‘Hi there,’ she chirped, stepping through the door. She caught a tense look in Melvyn’s eyes before his face broke into a smile.

‘Fiona!’ he said, taking in her designer jeans and crisp white shirt. ‘You’re looking more shaggable every day. If I didn’t swing the other way. .’

‘Oh, stop it, Melvyn,’ she laughed.

‘Cuppa?’

‘Thanks, yes.’

Melvyn turned to Zoe, who was replacing curlers on a rack.

‘Zoe, will you be Mum?’

Fiona waved a hand. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll do it.’ Without waiting for a reply, she walked across to the kitchen area and started setting out the cups.

‘So how are you, darling?’ Melvyn asked over his shoulder while wrapping a strand of his customer’s hair in tin foil.

‘Great, thanks. I’m feeling so much more positive.’

‘Brilliant — you look like you do.’

‘I’ve just moved into my own little place. It’s not much, but it’s a start.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Ridley Close in Fallowfield.’

‘Near City’s old ground?’

‘That’s it.’

Melvyn adjusted the towel round his customer’s neck. ‘OK, that’s you for a half-hour. Are you fine with those magazines? The latest Heat ’s around here somewhere. It’s got a great article about the contestants for that plastic surgery show they’re doing on telly soon.’

‘I’ve read it, thanks.’ She sat back in her seat and began reading one of the magazines on her lap.

Melvyn scooted over to the kitchen area. ‘I bet you’ve got it all spic and span.’

Fiona nodded. ‘Just about. Though I was hoping to borrow the Dyson. Once the place is properly clean, you’ll all have to come round for a drink.’

‘Just say when.’ Melvyn picked up the biscuit tin and gave it a rattle. ‘Empty again? God, do we get through them in here. Zoe, be a love and nip down the street for some more biccies.’ As the door shut behind her, Alice appeared from her side room. ‘Fiona. I thought I heard you.’

Fiona looked at Alice and her eyes widened. ‘You sure your due date is still a few weeks away?’

Alice’s shoulders sagged. ‘Oh, don’t. I feel like a beached whale.’

Laughing, Fiona pointed to the kettle. ‘Tea?’

‘Thanks.’ Alice perched on the edge of a stool and made a cradle for her stomach with her hands.

‘Fiona was just saying she’s moved into her own place,’ Melvyn announced.

‘Where is it?’ Alice asked.

Fiona grabbed a pen and paper from her handbag. ‘Flat 2,

15 Ridley Close. Over in Fallowfield.’ She handed the scrap of paper to Alice. ‘You’re all welcome to come round, but obviously the address has to stay secret. He has no idea where I am.’

Fiona caught that tense look on Melvyn’s face again. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said with a little shrug.

Fiona turned to Alice, but she was watching Melvyn. Fiona looked back at him. ‘He’s been here hasn’t he?’

He didn’t answer.

‘The bastard,’ Fiona hissed, fear and anger flaring up. ‘What did he say? What did he do? Did he threaten you? He did, didn’t he?’

Melvyn gave her a brief smile. ‘Nothing more than a raging poofter like me’s used to. Don’t worry, he soon ran out of steam. Especially when I blew him a kiss.’