Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

The belly laughs of several men snaked down the stairwell from Dean’s flat. George ground his jaw, and his taught body wobbled. The only laugh he recognized was Ginge’s. Horrible cunt! He’d get his. When the noise died down, he rolled the tension from his shoulders and continued moving forwards.

The cold showed little concern for the two extra sweatshirts that George had slipped on before leaving. It bit through them as if they weren’t there.

When George reached his destination, he tapped on the door.

The door opened a few seconds later to reveal Ravi standing there, a baseball bat in his hands.

Laughing, George looked at the boy’s weapon. “What are you going to do with that?”

Lowering the bat, Ravi winced. “Oh, nothing. You can never be too careful though.” After leaning the bat against the wall, he lifted a lit candle. Its flickering light cast a glow over his sleep-crushed face. Rubbing his eyes, he stared at George. “You do know what time it is, don’t you?”

“How the fuck would I know what time it is? Time hardly matters. It’s not like I have a meeting in the morning.”

“Fair point.” Stretching his arms to the ceiling, Ravi let out a groan. “So, what’s up, George? Why are you knocking on our door at this time of night?”

Even when he was sleeping, the boy still dressed like a tart. He wore designer tracksuit bottoms and a jumper that was a garish mess of the same symbol repeated all over the fabric. Lifting his hand, George showed Ravi the carrier bag hanging from his grip. “Here.”

When the boy didn’t take it, George frowned and shoved it further forwards.

Taking it this time, Ravi looked inside. “What’s this for?”

“Can’t you just say thanks? Fucking hell, Ravi.”

“Thanks.”

A silhouette moved in the shadows of Ravi’s flat. When George looked in, Ravi turned around. “Mum, come here.”

Despite spending a lot of time with the boy for these past few weeks, George had yet to meet his parents. Would they be insulted by his gift? Turning away, he looked into the dark hallway.

When he glanced back, he saw the small lady. She looked old beyond her years. The conditions she was living in were clearly taking their toll. Ravi had told him that she was in her sixties. If George were to guess without any prior knowledge, he would have put the fragile lady at about eighty. Time was different in this place. It was locked on fast forward. It sucked people in, chewed them up and spat out their shells. Another scream cut through the building and shook George to his core. It was weaker than those before it. What would be left of Sarah after her spell here?

After looking in the carrier bag that Ravi held open for her, Mrs. Vadher regarded George with her big, brown eyes. “Thank you.”

Dropping his gaze to the floor, George could feel his face heating up. “It’s fine. You guys need to eat. It’s as simple as that.” When he looked back up, she still held him with the same penetrative stare. “I… um, I hope I haven’t offended you? I didn’t come here to get smoke blown up my ar…” He stopped himself.

Smiling, she nodded and held out her skinny hand.

Shaking it, George suddenly wished he’d washed the blood off his own.

When he tried to pull away she wouldn’t let go. A wrinkly smile lit up her entire face and her warm eyes glowed. “Come in, son.”

“No. Thanks.” Shaking his head, George backed away. “I can’t. I have things to do.”

“At three in the morning?”

The old woman’s grip was surprisingly strong.

Pulling again, George still couldn’t get free. “I can’t stay tonight, Mrs Vadher, I have things to do.”

Squeezing tighter still, she smiled.

Laughing, George shook his head. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

The smile on her face broadened.

It was only when George stepped forwards that she eased her grip. Taking the bag of food, she stepped aside so he could enter their flat.

The loud ching of George’s knife connecting with the porcelain plate cut through the silence. Wincing, George looked up. The Vadhers remained focused on their meals. The most pronounced parts of their faces were highlighted by the weak candlelight. Everything else was lost to the dark.

There were three candles down the center of the table. Their flickering light animated the surrounding shadows. This was the first time George had been in the Vadhers’ flat, and it was impossible to know what was hiding in the darkness surrounding them.

The impromptu cold stew that Mrs. Vadher had whipped up made George’s mouth water as he ate it. “This is lovely, Mrs. Vadher. How did you make something so delicious with a can of corned beef, tinned tomatoes, and garlic puree?”

Ravi’s mum giggled.

When George looked over at Ravi, he saw him sink in his seat.

“Thank you, George,” she said. “It’s nice to have company, even at this time in the morning.”

A smile lifted one side of his mouth as he looked at the five digital clocks on the mantelpiece. “Why do you have so many clocks?” His breath was visible when he spoke.

“In case one runs out of batteries,” Ravi said. “If one or two run out, we have time to replace the batteries before any more go. That way, we always know what time it is.”

Taking another mouthful, George was hit with a strong concentration of salt that pulled his neck tight. It was obviously from the cheap meat rather than the recipe. What would this woman do with all the right ingredients and functioning appliances? “But what does it matter what time it is?”

“I like to know.” It was the first time Ravi’s dad had spoken. He had a deep voice that was quiet yet authoritative. “We’ve lost so much in this world, so I choose to hold onto time. I can see that it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not stupid. But if I can keep track of time, I can remember birthdays and anniversaries. Those things are important to me.” Staring into space for a moment, he cleared his throat. “I like to remember the people we’ve lost.” When he returned his attention back to his plate, silence descended on the room again.

Watching another minute tick away on the five clocks, George saw they weren’t so accurate that the time changed simultaneously, although they were close. The silence had lasted seven minutes now. It felt much longer.

Before it could hit eight, Ravi’s mum lifted her head. “I know it’s horrible here, but we’re surviving. We were on the streets before this.” Regarding George, she pointed at herself. “Look at us. We were lucky we lasted as long as we did.”

Finishing his mouthful with a hard gulp that stung on the way down, George swallowed again to try and ease the burn. “How long was it before you decided to leave your home?”

“When the shops ran out of supplies. Before then, Ravi was risking his life to go out and get us food. But things turned dark pretty fast. I’m amazed that everything ran out so quickly.” A watery glaze spread over her eyes. “We saw the Johnsons down the street hung from a lamp post for a jar of peanut butter.” Her voice cracked. “A family of four murdered over the smallest amount of food.”

Leaning over, Mr. Vadher stroked the back of his wife’s hand.

Chewing her bottom lip, she then took a deep breath. “That was when we knew we needed to get off our estate. If they were prepared to do that to a six-month-old…”

The second mouthful stuck in George’s throat. “A six-month-old?”

Sobbing, Mrs. Vadher nodded.

“Wow! Things went to hell fast, eh?”

Blowing her nose, Mrs. Vadher nodded again. “They did. We made slow progress across London, hiding out when we needed a rest.” A heavy frown dominated her brow. “We really slowed Ravi down.”