Naked in Knightsbridge (34 page)

‘I seen the papers, Jools,’ Rocco called after her. ‘Everyone’s seen those papers, innit? I know your luck’s run out.’

Jools stopped but didn’t turn around. Why torture herself with the smile that must be plastered on his smarmy, greasy mug. It’d be the last straw – she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from trying to batter him to death with those kebabs. Not a good move, because he’d retaliate with more force than her. Still, death by kebab didn’t sound that bad, Jools thought, her mouth watering.

‘It’s not my luck that’s run out, Rocco,’ she said, ‘It’s my money.’ Rocco walked towards her, the squeak of his rubber-soled shoes making ugly music on the wet pavement.

Rocco smiled. ‘Why, thank you! He leaned in closer still – so close she could smell the mix of stale body odour and the garlic kebab sauce. ‘Happy to help, innit?’

Rocco ran his eyes over Jools, as if she was a wrapped meat selection at Whole Foods. She needed a shower from just being beside him.

‘Work for me. I’ll give you a place to stay – rent free – until you get back on your feet.’

That was priceless. Jools could only imagine what type of work Rocco had in mind. ‘I’m not breaking anyone’s knee caps. Or streetwalking!’

Rocco looked up at the sky and made a loud hiccupping noise Jools identified as laughing. Rocking back on his heels as he enjoyed his private joke, Jools thought he might fall over backwards (the kebab gut
was
rather large) but somehow he stayed upright.

‘Oh Joolsy, Joolsy. You’ve always been my favourite non-payer. I don’t need you to do nothin’ like that. I’m thinkin’ cleaning. You got the skills, innit? I need someone to make sure the flats are in top condition.’

Jools was bemused. The only way Rocco’s rat-infested flats could ever be considered ‘top condition’ would if they were knocked town and rebuilt. Why was he suddenly so concerned with cleanliness anyway? Certainly never seemed to care when she lived there. Still, Rocco’s offer might be her only hope for survival.

‘I suppose I can do that,’ she said slowly, ‘as long as that is all there is to it. Just clean and maintain the flats?’

There had to be a catch.

‘That’s it,’ he told her, ‘swear on my kebab.’ He held one hairy hand over his heart before passing it over for Jools to shake. She paused, then shook the greasy palm, trying to keep from looking too disgusted.

‘Oh Jools,’ Rocco shook his head with mirth. ‘You got the wrong end of the stick again, innit? I don’t need you to clean your
old
building. I need you to clean that.’

Rocco pointed down the street towards the massive stone and concrete monstrosity that was sitting solid and heavy, looking like the structure that time forgot. Great. The local council block. It had at least forty units, instead of the eight that she thought she’d be cleaning. On top of that, it was probably filled with some of the most depraved and shocking examples of humankind she’d ever seen. Besides Rocco, of course.

‘That? You want me to clean
that
?’

‘Not all of it. Just the communal areas and the tenants who pay extra.’

Well, that was a little better. Surely, only a few residents could afford a cleaner? Besides, there wasn’t really a choice. It was getting dark and she was homeless. Again.

She followed Rocco to the building. He led her to a small, dank flat off a long hallway in the basement. Unlocking a dented metal door, he pulled a cord on the single light hanging from the peeling ceiling.

Jools looked around, horrified. It was little better than a prison cell, with a stained toilet and sink in the corner and a small fridge that hummed louder than a lorry stuck in an uncharacteristic heatwave on the M25. A soiled mattress lay on the floor in one corner. In the other, a scarred wooden desk tried valiantly to remain upright. Jools knew how it felt.

‘Home sweet home!’ Rocco dropped a massive set of keys on the desk. ‘Here are the keys for the flats that need cleaning. Numbers are on the tags. Don’t forget the front hall and path.’

Rocco’s bruised features betrayed slight understanding. Or maybe the kebab was just repeating on him. ‘Alright, Joolsy. Tomorrow, then. But you better toughen up. This ain’t no easy ride.’

With that he left.

Jools collapsed onto the horrid stinky bed. The springs bit into her back as she rolled into the middle of the sagging, smelly heap. It was about as comfortable as sleeping on the boot of a car, but she was so exhausted from the intrigue of the last twenty-four hours she was asleep in two minutes flat.

The next morning she awoke, turned her knickers inside out (well, one had to have some standards, after all), splashed some cold water on her face and under her armpits and headed upstairs for a day of work.

The building could have easily won a competition for Most Festering Location in London. The elevator, which made horrible noises as it ascended through the narrow shaft up the middle of the building, smelled of urine and was covered in graffiti. The front hall was covered in some substance that required a nose peg to get close enough to clean.

She propped open the front door to air out the small room and set about mopping the floor and washing the walls.

Finished in the hall, she headed outside for some fresh air. A passed-out drunk blocked the front entrance. She kicked him a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t dead. Or Skuttle. He came to, cursed at her through black teeth, and went back to sleep.

And it only got worse. In a flat on the third floor, she found several dead rats piled on top of each other, like some sort of surreal sculpture. All the furniture had been eaten through and the linoleum was covered in rat faeces and rubbish. The rats had been dead for some time. They looked hollowed out and dusty — much like Jools felt.

She swept the rat pile into a heavy-duty bin liner and headed down to the basement to throw it into the incinerator. On her way, she almost collided with a tall, gaunt man. Although he looked young, he was missing several teeth. In his arms was a tiny old dog covered in scabs. The animal’s eyes were clouded and it barked and growled like crazy. She was tempted to toss the mutt into the incinerator along with the rats.

The man found his voice. ‘I have a fucking leak in my fucking apartment. It’s been fucking running for fucking days and days. It’s right over my fucking bed, which makes sleeping very fucking unpleasant,’ the man growled for emphasis, sounding remarkably like his feral pet.

Jools wanted to tell him to fuck off but given his familiarity with that particular expletive it was hardly worth it.

‘I’ll look into it,’ she told him, still holding the bag of dead rats. Covered in grease and soot, she was knackered, her back was killing her and all she wanted was to crawl into bed and go back to sleep, even though her bed was so putrid it could hardly be classified as a place of rest.

Dumping the rat bag into the incinerator, she headed upstairs to see about the water problem.

Standing in front of the leak-causing abode, she knocked on the door. There was no answer at first, but soon Jools heard the sound of unsteady feet heading towards the door.

‘Hang on.’ The voice was old and scratchy. The door creaked open and an ancient woman wearing a floral print bathrobe appeared. The stench coming from inside the flat was unbearable. It was the worst thing that Jools had smelled yet — a mixture of decaying animal matter, urine and something sweet she couldn’t quite place. She thought she might vomit right there on the old woman’s fuzzy pink slippers but luckily managed to hold it together.

‘The man downstairs says he’s got a leak and we think it might be coming from your flat,’ she told the woman, trying desperately to breathe through her mouth so as not to inhale the vile odours.

‘Rubbish,’ the old woman barked. ‘He’s a lunatic, that one. There’s nothing leaking up here.’ Just then, Jools heard a pained howl coming from the flat. It could have been animal or human. Jools wasn’t sure.

‘Don’t you pay no attention to Henry,’ the old woman said. ‘He howls for attention. Been doing that for forty years. Since our wedding night.’

‘Would you mind if I come in and take a look at your loo?’ Jools asked.

‘I told you there’s nothing wrong with our pipes!’ the old woman yelled, stamping her fuzzy foot at the same time.

‘Madame,’ Jools began, trying to stay professional, ‘I have been hired to keep this building clean and orderly. I can’t do my job if you don’t let me in.’

‘Fine, come inside. But watch where you step. We got traps set for the vermin.’

The old woman opened the door and Jools stepped backwards in horror. The entire flat was covered in rat-traps, many of which had already achieved their purpose. Dead rats lay scattered about the small two-bedroom flat, roaches scurried up walls and the entire apartment seemed coated in a fine sheen of urine.

Jools immediately spied the old woman’s husband. He was hard to miss. Tied into his wheelchair with what looked like fishing line, he held an oxygen tank on his lap and shrieked as she approached. He held the mask up and took a deep breath of oxygen. Jools almost snatched the mask to use the fresh air herself, but managed to exercise restraint.

Where the floors weren’t covered in rats, yellowed newspapers served as makeshift carpeting. The old woman had seated herself on a filthy sofa and was sifting through more papers when Jools spotted herself on the cover of one of them. She shook her head and headed quickly for the loo, hoping that the old woman wouldn’t recognise her. But it was too late.

‘You! It’s you!’ Jools heard the old woman shout from the lounge. Then she started cackling like crazy.

Jools closed the loo door. The bathtub was filled with rust-coloured water. Lord knew how long it had been standing in there. The old woman started banging on the door.

‘You’re the fat doughnut girl who was to marry that politician! Let me in, I want to talk to you!’ The old woman pounded manically on the door.

‘Listen you pathetic old bag, my life is none of your business, and given how you live, I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. So you can take your leak, and your rats and your nasty little hovel and shove them.’

And with that, she stormed out.

The next morning, Jools headed straight for Rocco’s office and told him she wouldn’t be cleaning the building any longer.

Jools had to admit that it was a
minute
step up from sleeping in the gutter. But she wasn’t going to sit back and let some thug manipulate her.

‘Here’s the thing, Rocco. I need a few days to get some money. And you know, if that building really is for council flats, it shouldn’t be in that condition.’

Thinking fast, Jools replied that the local council probably would. ‘If you are being paid to look after those cesspit council flats, you might be in a load of trouble about the state they’re in.’

She headed straight for the nearest Internet café, but as cash was a problem, a bout of lurking was necessary. Finally a guy in the corner seemed to be finishing up.

Jools sat down and logged onto miSell with her old username. Thankfully it still worked. Setting up accounts was time consuming, time she definitely couldn’t afford. Next to her a half-filled cup of still-hot coffee beckoned temptingly, but she resisted the temptation. Knowing her luck, an errant pap was sitting nearby googling long-range lenses.