‘And you give me …’ He stopped to think for a moment. ‘Three hundred.’
Frieda took a small wad of twenties from her pocket and counted out fifteen. She handed them to Lev, who put them in his pocket without checking them.
‘For the …’ He waved a hand, searching for the word.
‘The expenses?’ supplied Frieda.
‘Some things to pay, yes.’
He unlocked the door. ‘Welcome,’ he said and stood aside to let her in.
Frieda stepped into the little hallway. There was a smell of damp and piss and something else, a rotting sweet smell. It looked as if the flat had been abandoned quickly. Whatever had been hanging on the wall seemed to have been pulled away, leaving cracked and pitted plaster. She turned a wall switch on and off. Good. There was light at least. She put down her holdall and walked around from one room to another. There was a sofa and a table in a living room, a single bed in a back room and nothing at all in the bathroom or kitchen. No table or chair, no pot or pan.
‘Do you own this?’ asked Frieda.
Lev grimaced. ‘Look after,’ he said.
‘And if someone comes and asks me what I’m doing here?’
‘Nobody come probably.’
‘If someone asks, do I mention your name?’
‘No names.’ Lev bent over a portable electric heater in the corner of the living room. He looked up. ‘When you go out, do not have this switch on,’ he said. ‘Is maybe problem. And maybe not when asleep as well.’
‘OK.’
‘You here just three weeks, four weeks?’
‘I guess. Who else lives here?’
‘Only you.’
‘I mean in the rest of the building.’
‘All kinds. Syria now. Romania. Always the Somalis. They come and they go. Except one very old woman, very old. English from long ago.’
‘Is there anything I need to know?’
Lev looked thoughtful.
‘Lock the door always from inside. They sometimes play the music very loud. The ear muffs is good, not the complaining.’
He held out his hand and shook Frieda’s.
‘When I’m done, what do I do with the key?’
He made a contemptuous gesture. ‘Thrown in the bin.’
‘And if there’s a problem, how do I reach you?’
He zipped up his jacket. ‘If there is a problem, the best is to go away to another place.’
‘Shouldn’t I have your number?’
‘For what?’
Frieda really couldn’t think of any reason why. ‘What about the next rent payment?’
‘There is not rent.’
‘Well, thank you, for all of this.’
He shrugged. ‘No, no, this was a thank-you to my friend Josef.’
Frieda didn’t want to think of what Josef might have done for Lev to have earned a favour like this. She hoped it was only some cheap building work.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘goodbye to you.’ He walked to the front door. ‘And now I think of it, maybe not to use the heater any time. Is not so good. And this is summer, so no need.’ And he left and Frieda was alone.
She paced the flat. She stopped in the living room and looked at a corner where the wallpaper was coming away.The whole place felt abandoned, desolate, forgotten. It was perfect.
First things first. She took a notepad and pen from her shoulder bag and made a list. Then she left the flat, locking the door after her, and went down the three flights of stairs, through the courtyard and back onto the street. She retraced her footsteps and soon was on the high street. The sky was a flat blue, making everything look slightly garish.
She went into a pound shop, which was crammed with all manner of apparently random objects. There was an entire section devoted to Tupperware, another to water pistols. Paper plates, bath toys, streamers, several fishing rods, mop heads, bath foam, photo frames and patterned cups; plastic flowers, toilet brushes and sink plungers; kitchenware of all kinds. Frieda selected a pack of paper plates, another of plastic forks and knives, washing-up liquid, lavatory paper, a white mug and a small tumbler, a miniature kettle in lurid pink.
She didn’t
Frieda took a small wad of twenties from her pocket and counted out fifteen. She handed them to Lev, who put them in his pocket without checking them.
‘For the …’ He waved a hand, searching for the word.
‘The expenses?’ supplied Frieda.
‘Some things to pay, yes.’
He unlocked the door. ‘Welcome,’ he said and stood aside to let her in.
Frieda stepped into the little hallway. There was a smell of damp and piss and something else, a rotting sweet smell. It looked as if the flat had been abandoned quickly. Whatever had been hanging on the wall seemed to have been pulled away, leaving cracked and pitted plaster. She turned a wall switch on and off. Good. There was light at least. She put down her holdall and walked around from one room to another. There was a sofa and a table in a living room, a single bed in a back room and nothing at all in the bathroom or kitchen. No table or chair, no pot or pan.
‘Do you own this?’ asked Frieda.
Lev grimaced. ‘Look after,’ he said.
‘And if someone comes and asks me what I’m doing here?’
‘Nobody come probably.’
‘If someone asks, do I mention your name?’
‘No names.’ Lev bent over a portable electric heater in the corner of the living room. He looked up. ‘When you go out, do not have this switch on,’ he said. ‘Is maybe problem. And maybe not when asleep as well.’
‘OK.’
‘You here just three weeks, four weeks?’
‘I guess. Who else lives here?’
‘Only you.’
‘I mean in the rest of the building.’
‘All kinds. Syria now. Romania. Always the Somalis. They come and they go. Except one very old woman, very old. English from long ago.’
‘Is there anything I need to know?’
Lev looked thoughtful.
‘Lock the door always from inside. They sometimes play the music very loud. The ear muffs is good, not the complaining.’
He held out his hand and shook Frieda’s.
‘When I’m done, what do I do with the key?’
He made a contemptuous gesture. ‘Thrown in the bin.’
‘And if there’s a problem, how do I reach you?’
He zipped up his jacket. ‘If there is a problem, the best is to go away to another place.’
‘Shouldn’t I have your number?’
‘For what?’
Frieda really couldn’t think of any reason why. ‘What about the next rent payment?’
‘There is not rent.’
‘Well, thank you, for all of this.’
He shrugged. ‘No, no, this was a thank-you to my friend Josef.’
Frieda didn’t want to think of what Josef might have done for Lev to have earned a favour like this. She hoped it was only some cheap building work.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘goodbye to you.’ He walked to the front door. ‘And now I think of it, maybe not to use the heater any time. Is not so good. And this is summer, so no need.’ And he left and Frieda was alone.
She paced the flat. She stopped in the living room and looked at a corner where the wallpaper was coming away.The whole place felt abandoned, desolate, forgotten. It was perfect.
First things first. She took a notepad and pen from her shoulder bag and made a list. Then she left the flat, locking the door after her, and went down the three flights of stairs, through the courtyard and back onto the street. She retraced her footsteps and soon was on the high street. The sky was a flat blue, making everything look slightly garish.
She went into a pound shop, which was crammed with all manner of apparently random objects. There was an entire section devoted to Tupperware, another to water pistols. Paper plates, bath toys, streamers, several fishing rods, mop heads, bath foam, photo frames and patterned cups; plastic flowers, toilet brushes and sink plungers; kitchenware of all kinds. Frieda selected a pack of paper plates, another of plastic forks and knives, washing-up liquid, lavatory paper, a white mug and a small tumbler, a miniature kettle in lurid pink.
She didn’t
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