Make Death Love Me by Ruth Rendell Page B

He might be stark naked for all she could tell, which was all right when it was Stephen or one of her brothers coming out of the bathroom, but not that pig. However, he was wearing blue pants with mauve bindings, and by the time he had come into the kitchen he had pulled on jeans and a shirt.
    â€˜Give us a cup of tea.’
    â€˜Get it yourself,’ said Joyce. ‘You can take me to the toilet first.’
    She was a full five minutes in there, doing it on purpose, Marty thought. He was on tenterhooks lest Bridey came out or old Green. But there was no one. The lavatory flushed and Joyce walked back, not looking at him. She passed Nigel who was sitting on the mattress with his head in his hands, and went straight to the sink to wash her hands. All the bacon in the pan, two eggs and a saucepanful of baked beans went on to the plate she had heated for herself. She sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat.
    Nigel was obliged to pour tea for both of them and start cooking more bacon. He did it clumsily because he too was a slow waker. ‘One of us’ll have to go out,’ he said, ‘and get a paper and more food.’
    â€˜And some booze, for Christ’s sake,’ said Marty.
    â€˜How about me going?’ said Joyce pertly.
    â€˜Be your age,’ said Nigel, and to Marty, ‘You can go. I’ll be better keeping an eye on her.’
    Joyce ate fastidiously, trying not to show how famished she was. ‘When are you going to let me go?’
    â€˜Tomorrow,’ said Marty.
    â€˜You said that yesterday.’
    â€˜Then he shouldn’t have,’ snapped Nigel. ‘You stay here. Get it? You stay here till I’m good and ready.’
    Joyce had believed Marty. She felt a little terrible tremor, but she said with boldness, ‘If he’s going out he can get me a pair of shoes.’
    â€˜You what? That’d be marvellous, that would, me getting a pair of girl’s shoes when they know you’ve lost one.’
    â€˜Get her a pair of flip-flops or sandals or something. You can go to Marks in Kilburn. She’ll only get a hole in her tights and then we’ll have to buy goddamned tights.’
    â€˜And a toothbrush,’ said Joyce.
    Marty pointed to a pot, encrusted with blackened soap, in which reposed a toothbrush with splayed brown tufts.
    â€˜Me use that?’ said Joyce indignantly. She thought of the nastiest infection she could, of one she’d seen written on the wall in the Ladies’ on Stantwich Station. ‘I’d get crabs.’
    Nigel couldn’t help grinning at that. They ate their breakfast and Marty went off, leaving Nigel with the gun.
    Joyce wasn’t used to being idle, and she had never been in such a nasty dirty place before. She announced, without asking Nigel’s permission, that she intended to clean up the kitchen.
    Marty would have been quite pleased. He didn’t clean the kitchen himself because he was too lazy to do so, not because he disapproved of cleaning. Nigel did. He had left home partly because his parents were always cleaning something. He sat on the mattress and watched Joyce scrubbing away, and for the first time he felt some emotion towards her move in him. Until then he had thought of her as an object or a nuisance. Now what he felt was anger. He was profoundly disturbed by what she was doing, it brought up old half-forgotten feelings and unhappy scenes, and he kept the gun trained on her, although her back was turned and she couldn’t see it.
    About an hour later Marty tapped at the door, giving the four little raps that was their signal to each other. He threw a pair of rubber-thonged sandals on to the floor and dropped the shopping bag. His face was white and pinched.
    â€˜Where’s Joyce?’
    â€˜That’s her name, is it? In the kitchen, spring-cleaning. What’s freaking you?’
    Marty began taking a newspaper folded small out of his jacket pocket.