Kelly Harte - Spitting Feathers

No one had told me that. And what was he doing, coming around here at this time of night? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but there’s only me here at the moment. Can’t you come back tomorrow?’

‘No, I can’t. Now, open the door like a good girl, or I’ll just use my own key anyway.’

I sighed and pressed the buzzer to open the street door, alarmed for Sophie’s sake to learn that he had such easy access to the flat, and alarmed for my own sake that I was about to be alone with him. I could hear him dragging his feet over the uncarpeted stairs, and I opened the door before he reached it. I left it open, just in case I needed to make a fast getaway.

He was dressed in two shades of denim tonight—black jeans, blue jacket—and he was carrying a metal box that I assumed contained his tools. I managed a smile as it didn’t seem sensible to appear unfriendly.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’ I said.

‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ he said as he gave me the once-over.

I hesitated. I didn’t want him hanging around, and yet I didn’t want to antagonise him either. ‘Tea okay?’ I asked as I uttered a silent groan.

‘Tea’s good,’ he said.

He followed me into the kitchen and I switched on the already fullish kettle. ‘Better wait till it’s boiled ’cause I may have to switch the electricity off.’

I shrugged, and then busied myself with teabags and things as he plonked himself down at the kitchen table.

‘Had a helluva day,’ he said with a heavy sigh.

Unfortunately I felt some response was necessary. ‘Oh, yes?’ I said, glancing around at him. ‘What have you been up to?’

The kitchen was poky, with hardly room for a table, and his presence was overpowering. He smelt of very stale BO and I wondered if I could get away with spraying some air freshener without offending him. I decided I probably couldn’t.

‘Having a row with the Social. They’re threatening to stop my benefits. Seem to think I might have some undisclosed income.’

I turned and looked at him properly. Like rent from a sublet council flat, I thought, but wisely didn’t say. His eyes were narrowed to a slit.

‘I’d be really upset if I thought someone had grassed me up,’ he said meaningfully.

‘Why would anyone do that?’ I asked as casually as I could manage. Luckily the kettle clicked off at that moment and I could get on with making the tea.

‘All sorts of reasons,’ I heard him say, ‘but none worth the trouble they’d come up against if I found out who it was.’

I put some milk in the tea, removed the teabag, and turned to ask if he’d like some sugar. When I’d added the requested three spoonfuls, I decided it was high time to change the subject. ‘So where do you live yourself?’ I asked chattily.

‘Not far,’ he said, in a way that sounded to me like an additional threat.

‘With anyone?’ I pressed blithely on.

He looked a little bit embarrassed now. ‘With my mum,’ he murmured quietly.

Suddenly he didn’t seem nearly so scary, this thirty-odd-year-old man with his big talk and his silly tattoo…who still lived with his mother.

‘Does she give you a hard time?’ I said, on a hunch.

‘Does the Pope say his prayers?’ Peter said dismally. ‘She’ll kill me if the Social carry out their threats. She’s forever nagging me to get a job.’

‘Why don’t you, then?’

‘Easy for you to say,’ he said huffily. ‘It’s hard when you ain’t got no qualifications.’

And I didn’t suppose that his appearance helped much either. He could be smartened up if someone tried very hard, and made to smell a lot better, but it would be difficult to hide that thing on his face.

‘Well, I haven’t worked for over a year,’ I said, to make him feel better, conveniently forgetting to mention that I’d been learning a trade for most of that time. ‘But I’m hoping my luck’s about to change.’ He wasn’t exactly first choice to share my news with, but I did it anyway. And to my surprise he seemed quite excited for me.

‘My mum’s a big fan,’ he said, shaking his head with the sort of indulgence that made me realise how fond of his mother he was, despite everything. ‘I’m not allowed to open my mouth when that American’s on.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘If you get the job, I’ll tell her you’ll bring him round for a chat. That should keep her off my back for a while.’

I didn’t dispel his hopes there and then, not when he seemed in such a good mood, but as he downed the last of his tea I reminded him why he’d come here. ‘Whose room did you think has the lighting problem?’ I said pointedly.

He got up reluctantly and went to Jemima’s room. Two minutes later he reappeared. ‘Got any lightbulbs?’ he wanted to know.

I didn’t have a clue, but guessed if we had that they’d be in the cupboard next to the sink. I was right, and I handed him one.

He was back again in less than a minute. ‘Thought so,’ he said with a slow shake of his bison-like head. ‘Silly bitch probably doesn’t know that you have to change them occasionally.’

And, don’t ask me why, but there and then I decided that I quite liked Peter Parker.

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