Crash III: There's No Place Like Home (11 page)

All he could do was shake his head. He wasn’t ready to talk about the warehouse. Not yet. There may never be a time when he would want to talk about it.

Slipping into bed next to Lola, he sat up and pulled the covers to his chin. Lola stared at him, but he wouldn’t look at her. If she expected him to find somewhere else to sleep, she could think again.

While Lola smoked, she continued to look at him but didn’t speak. She finally stubbed her cigarette out on a coaster, shook her head, and fell back into her pillow. “Night, Nearly Eleven.”

Some of the tension left him, and he lay down too. It almost felt safe. Exhaustion prevented him from smiling when he mumbled, “Night, Lola.”

Welcome to the Neighborhood

When Michael woke in the morning, he saw he’d drawn the heavy curtains so tightly they only let a small amount of light in, casting a murky hue over the room. He’d forgotten to open a window before he went to sleep and the stuffiness had clogged his sinuses. To make himself feel better, he had to get up, draw the curtains, and let some air in. Exhaustion, however, had turned his muscles to lead.
 

The smell of Lola—or more precisely, the smell of her cigarette—hit Michael before he looked at her. Sitting upright in bed next to him, she puffed away as if she’d been awake for hours. She blew a cloud of smoke at him and smiled. “Morning.”

The reek didn't help Michael's congested head, and when he tried to waft it away it did nothing. “Do you have to blow it right at me? Bloody hell, Lola, those things stink.”

When Michael sat up, the covers slipped away from him, and he looked down. “What the hell?”
 

He threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. A twinge ran through his ankle, but it held.
 

Once he’d recovered from the sharp sting, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror. The tracksuit bottoms and hoodie were a matching set—bright pink with sky-blue writing on them.
 

Lola’s cheeks pulled in as she sucked on her cigarette. Raising an eyebrow, she nodded. “The outfit suits you.”

Michael pulled the hoodie off and threw it on the bed—his T-shirt had a picture of Bambi on it.

“I thought you’d like that one,” Lola said with a smirk. “In all seriousness, you’d best keep it on. You’ll freeze to death if you don’t.”

Michael shook his head and walked over to the chest of drawers. When he pulled the top drawer out, he blushed. He could feel Lola’s scrutiny as he stared at the collection of frilly and brightly colored knickers.

The next drawer contained bras and the one below that, T-shirts. A quick search through them and Michael sighed. "So Bambi's as good as it gets?"
 

Lola didn't answer him.

The remaining two drawers had a couple of sweaters and a pair of skinny jeans. He looked back at Lola.

The slow drag on her cigarette and casual shrug contradicted the impish glee with which she watched him. “See, that was the best I could find.”

Fire spread across Michael’s cheeks as he blushed harder than before and slipped the hoodie back on. “Of all the places we break into,” he said, “we manage to find the house that belonged to a single woman. It’s typical when I need some fresh clothes, isn’t it? Well, I can tell you, as soon as I get the opportunity to change into something else I’m going to burn these clothes.”

Lola leaned farther back into the pillows supporting her and snorted a laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Nearly Eleven. With any luck, we won’t be bumping into anyone anytime soon. It’s only me that’s going to be able to laugh at you.”

When Michael's stomach rumbled, Lola leaned out of the bed, grabbed her coat, and pulled out a chocolate bar from the stash they’d found in the shop. She threw a Crunchie at him.

The poor light made it hard to see, but he managed to catch it anyway. He stared at the gold-wrapped bar for a few seconds before looking back at Lola. “Um… is there any other choice?”

Sighing, Lola dug around in her pocket and threw a Mars Bar. It landed at the end of the bed. “Better?”

Michael smiled and tossed the Crunchie back. “Much.”

The sickly sweet bar turned into a thick paste in Michael's mouth. Despite gulping several times, he couldn't produce the saliva needed to swallow it.

The door to the en suite bathroom was open, so Michael went in and switched the taps on. Nothing. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he opened the cupboard above the bathroom sink. His heart lifted. Two small bottles of water sat in the middle of the shelf. They were both sealed.
 

When he returned to the bedroom with them held aloft, Lola’s jaw dropped. “Where were they?”

“In the bathroom cupboard above the sink.” He passed one to Lola.

Lola’s hands shook as she rushed to open it. After she’d twisted the cap, she put the bottle to her lips and upended it. Three loud gulps and she’d emptied it.
 

Michael sipped his, finishing off his chocolate bar before he drained the bottle and burped. “Pardon me.”

“You’re so posh.”

“What?”

Putting on a fake private school accent, she straightened her back and covered her mouth. “Oh, pardon me.”

“Fuck off.”

She laughed and pointed at him. “Even that sounds posh.”

Michael didn’t reply.

***

When Michael lay back down, his lethargy pinned him to the bed and he looked over at the still drawn curtains.
Damn it!

For the next twenty minutes or so, Michael and Lola lay there in silence. Michael stared at the ceiling and Lola smoked.

“This room reminds me of being in the spare room at home,” Michael said. “Four of us would lie in bed all day. We’d go hours without talking to one another.”

A glaze covered Lola’s eyes as she continued to stare up. “Sounds grim.”

“It was. I can see why Mum and Matilda killed themselves.” Stabbing pains ran through his heart and tears stung his eyes. “Things were bad at home about six months before, when Dad lost his job. We were taken out of school and sent to the local comprehensive.”

Lola turned to face him; her eyes dead, her tone flat. “I’d imagine it was hard having to slum it with the other kids.”

“It may be difficult for you to understand, but it was. Matilda and I were targeted by bullies because we’d been privately educated. When the teachers stopped turning up, things got even worse.”

The smoke hung so heavy in the air Michael had to get up and away from it. His ankle ached as he paced the room. “If we weren’t being bullied at school, we’d come home and listen to Mum and Dad arguing all night about money and how Dad couldn’t provide for the family. I’d watch Dad try to get a job every day even though there weren’t any.”

Lola looked like she didn’t give a shit. Michael continued anyway. “Then Mum and Matilda disappeared. The men in the trucks arrived soon after.”
 

No response.

She really didn’t care. When he pulled one of the curtains aside and peered out, he froze.

The panic surging through him must have been clear on his face because when he looked at Lola, she sat up straight and leaned toward him. “What? What is it?”

As he stared at her, he shook his head. The words wouldn’t come.
 

When Lola rushed over to his side, she looked out of the window.
 

Silence sat between them before she finally said, “Oh shit.”

Supply Run

“Will you come away from that bloody window? You’ve been standing there for hours.”

Although he’d heard her and even turned to look at her, Michael returned his attention to outside the window. He couldn’t look away. Not now he knew who their neighbor was.
 

The daylight was fading outside. “I can’t believe he hasn’t left the house all day. Do you think he’s even in there?”

Lola lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Of course he is. There’s no way he’d leave that truck unguarded. He’s there for sure.”

Michael looked up the road again. The grand house George stayed in looked out of place amongst all the semi-detached houses. Not only did it exist on its own plot of land, but it also had a wall surrounding it.
 

Black gates provided the only access to the property. They stood strong and imposing, much like the ones Michael’s cul-de-sac had. Except George had been cleverer than they had been; he’d parked his truck sideways across them to prevent anyone from getting in.

It didn’t look like the food on the back of the truck had diminished either.

The heat in the room had dropped with the oncoming night, but the chill that ran through Michael had nothing to do with temperature. “It feels weird to know the man that killed my dad is staying only a few houses down.”

Lola continued to stare up at the ceiling and didn’t respond.
 

Rubbing his sore eyes, he kept his focus on the girl. “It’s getting dark out. What shall we do? Shall we move on tonight?”

Still not looking at him, Lola shook her head. “No.”

“What shall we do then?”

“I think we should rob him. He has enough food in there to feed a small army. He won’t notice if a few bits go missing.”

The memory of his dad’s final moments came back. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Instead of replying, Lola lit another cigarette.

***

The night had settled in to the point where Michael couldn’t see George’s truck anymore, but he still watched out the window. Something may happen, and he didn’t want to miss it.

When Lola walked over to his side, Michael shifted out of the way. He screwed his nose up at the smell of stale cigarette smoke.

Lola pulled back from the window and said, “Alright, I think it’s dark enough now. I’m going to make my move. Wish me luck.”

“You’re really going to rob him?”

Lola rolled her eyes. “I said I was, didn’t I? Now wait here; I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She glared at Michael as if daring him to answer. He didn’t.
 

They held each other’s stare for a moment before Lola left the room.
 

Michael listened to her footsteps as she walked down the stairs and across the laminated hallway. Then the latch on the front door clicked. Lola had gone. Now he had to wait.
 

Returning to the window, he watched Lola’s dark silhouette disappear up the road. Before long, the shadows had swallowed her whole.
 

Then it hit him. Maybe she wasn’t planning on coming back. Maybe she just wanted rid of him. Maybe she wasn’t going to George’s at all.

With all of his anxieties forced to the back of his mind, Michael looked around the quiet and unlit room. Not only was he in a strange house in a strange part of London, but he was all on his own in the cold and silent darkness.
 

When a scuttling sound came from downstairs, Michael drew an involuntary breath and stared at the door. His tired eyes burned worse than ever.
 

A slow and rhythmic knocking ran through the house, calling to him from somewhere on the ground floor. Swallowing hard against his dry throat, Michael’s heartbeat ran rampant.
 

Maybe it’s the wind. Yeah right, like the wind has suddenly taken to rummaging around in the downstairs of abandoned houses.

When he looked outside again, it was pitch black and he couldn’t see a thing.

The cold had got under his skin again and Michael shook, closed his eyes, and thought of home. It was a home where his mum and sister were still alive, his dad was still working, and where all they had to think about was which channel to watch on the TV and how high to turn the heating up.
 

His pulse started to settle. Maybe he’d imagined the sound.

A loud crash
sounded out downstairs.

His pulse skyrocketed again.

Visitors

Michael stood in the bedroom and stared at the closed door. If he waited there, maybe the people downstairs would take what they wanted and leave. Maybe they wouldn’t check upstairs at all. Although basing a decision on 'maybe' needed a lot of luck and there wasn’t much of that in London at the moment. He needed to do something to get out! He had the element of surprise and maybe he should use it while he still had the advantage—Batman would!

As he left the room, he pulled a golfing umbrella from a terracotta pot by the door. The door handle made no noise when he pushed it down, and the hinges glided open with little protest.
Thank god.

When Michael stepped out onto the quiet landing, he held his breath and listened for the sounds downstairs. Nothing—maybe they’d already left.

The carpet that lined the stairs was soft and soundless beneath Michael’s feet. With every passing hour, his ankle got better and walking became much easier. He probably still couldn’t run, but it wouldn’t be long.
 

Michael stopped halfway down the stairs when he heard more sounds in the kitchen. He peered into the darkness in the direction of the kitchen.
The intruder could be twice his size and was probably armed with a better weapon than a fucking umbrella. But he had to do something. He couldn’t just leave them there for Lola to come back to.
 

Michael pushed on and fought to keep his breath even.

As he walked over the laminate flooring, his running shoes made a gentle tick against the hard surface. He took a step and then paused. He then took another step. It felt like playing 'What’s the Time, Mister Wolf?' and he was seeing how close he could get before it was dinnertime.

As he got closer to the kitchen, Michael turned and looked at the front door. He could go out and meet Lola in the street on her way back from George’s. As long as she didn’t come back a different way… which he had no way of predicting.

After walking the length of the hallway, his heart thumping, he pressed his back to the wall next to the kitchen door and took several deep breaths. It stilled his galloping heart enough for him to hear better.

It sounded like there was just one of them in the house.