The rain has completely stopped now, and there are even occasional glimpses of sunshine bouncing light off the glistening pavements, making the whole place look just a touch less sinister.
‘So, what would you say to her?’ Jessica asks as we walk. ‘I mean, she’s obviously not going to, but just suppose Zoe opened the front door. What would you say?’
I think about this for a moment, and then tell Jess the truth: that I haven’t the faintest idea. As we continue to walk, I try out various ideas in my mind, but none of them quite seems to work.
When we get to number forty, it’s a council house surrounded by other identical council houses in a street surrounded by other identical streets. It has a small, rather absurd iron gate across the narrow concrete path that leads through the overgrown front yard to the door – absurd because there is no fence on either side of it, so we could just step around it if we wanted to. I open the gate and theatrically bow and beckon to Jess to enter.
The paintwork on the front door is peeling, one of the panes of glass has been replaced with cardboard and to the left of the door, pushed up beneath the lounge window, is an old rain-soaked fake-leather sofa. ‘This is nice,’ I murmur.
‘Just stop it,’ Jessica mutters, knocking boldly on the front door. I think I see the net curtains in the upstairs window twitch, but I’m not sure. After a moment, Jess raps on the door again before bending down to peer through the flap of the letterbox. ‘Hello?’ she shouts out. ‘Anyone home?’
She straightens and pulls a face. ‘The problem is that you look like trouble,’ she says.
‘What do you mean, I look like trouble?’
‘Men in suits,’ Jess says. ‘They rarely bring good news to ordinary people. They’re usually here to seize the telly or serve a writ or something. You look like a lawyer or a judge. You look like trouble.’
I fiddle with my tie as I consider this. ‘OK . . .’ I say doubtfully.
‘I nearly said something when we left the unit,’ Jess says. ‘I nearly asked you to change. I wish I had now.’
I give her an exaggerated once-over of my own, taking in her candy-pink coat, the leggings, the yellow Dr. Martens.
‘What?’ she says. ‘I’m not saying you have to look like everyone else. I’m just saying that looking like a plainclothes cop isn’t perhaps ideal.’
‘I think I preferred it when you said I look like a judge.’ I laugh.
‘Whatever,’ Jess says, waving one hand at me dismissively. ‘You know what I mean.’
We step back from the front door and look up at the bedroom window. I still think I can sense someone there, peering out at us. ‘This isn’t going to work, is it?’ I say miserably.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, I’m just realising. It’s like, I thought we’d find her, or, you know, not be able to find her. Definitively. But the probability is actually just this, isn’t it? It’s just no answer.’
At that moment, a yellow DHL van comes hammering up the street, then scrunches to a stop in front of where we’re standing. A young guy with a blond ponytail climbs down, retrieves a package from the rear of the van and then, ignoring the ironic gate, jogs across the patch of grass to join us. ‘All right?’ he says. ‘Anyone in?’
‘We’re not sure,’ Jessica tells him, standing back. ‘You try.’
He knocks loudly on the door and raps his knuckles on the window. ‘DHL!’ he shouts. ‘Delivery for you!’
Surprisingly, the front door opens immediately, revealing a middle-aged woman in a velour dressing gown. ‘Oh, is that my Amazon stuff?’ she asks, reaching out to take the package from the DHL chap’s outstretched hand.
‘Just sign here,’ he says, stuffing a touchscreen device in her face. The package signed for, he jogs back across the garden and climbs into his van.
The woman starts to close the front door again, but then hesitates briefly. ‘If you’re Jehovah’s or whatever, I’m not interested,’ she says.
Both Jess and I grin at this.
‘We’re not,’ Jess says.
‘No, we’re really not,’ I add.
‘And if you’re selling something . . .’ the woman begins.
‘We’re actually just looking for his sister?’ Jess interrupts. ‘Zoe Fuller. Do you know her?’
The woman freezes. It only lasts a split second, but I can see the name means something to her.
‘You know her?’ I ask.
The woman shrugs. ‘I might do. She in trouble?’
‘Not at all,’ Jessica says.
‘I’m her brother. Like I said, I’m just trying to track her down.’
‘You don’t look like her brother.’
‘Well, no,’ I say, unsure how to respond to that. ‘Apparently I look like a Jehovah’s Witness. But I’m not. I’m Zoe’s brother.’
‘She was here, then?’ Jess asks. ‘At this address?’
‘Ages ago, she was. She was ’ere with Dwayne.’
‘Dwayne?’
‘My son. But they only lasted a couple of months. His relationships never last. Too selfish. And then they both fucked off. Separately, mind.’
‘Do you know where to?’ Jess asks.
The woman shakes her head. She pulls back the flap of her Amazon package and peers inside. I can see that she’s already losing interest in us. ‘Nah,’ she says. ‘Dwayne went back to his dad’s, I expect. As for Zo, I really couldn’t say. Nice girl, though. I liked her. It was just a shame she got into smoking that rubbish.’
I open my mouth to ask her what rubbish, but Jess is already saying, ‘Do you have an address for Dwayne, maybe? Or a number?’
‘Of course I do,’ the woman tells us. ‘He’s my son. But I ain’t giving it to you. I’m sorry, love, but I don’t know you from Adam.’
She starts to push the door closed, but Jess positions one foot in the gap. ‘Just one quick question,’ she says brightly. ‘We have this other address for Zoe. Do you know it, by any chance?’
The woman reopens the door a little and shoots Jess a glare designed to kill. ‘Take your foot out of my door, and maybe I’ll answer that,’ she says.
‘Yes, sorry,’ Jess says, withdrawing her boot from the opening. ‘Here,’ she says, plucking the sheet of paper from my grasp and handing it over.
The woman studies it. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘That’s over in Lawrence Hill, that is.’
‘Is that a walk, or, like, a drive away?’ Jess asks.
‘It’s a long old walk. Or you could get a bus. The number . . .’
‘We have a car,’ I interrupt. ‘So we’ll probably drive.’
‘Right,’ the woman says. ‘Well, watch your backs. It’s rough up there.’ And then the door clicks shut, and it’s over.
As we walk back towards the car, I repeat the woman’s warning. ‘Watch your backs,’ I say. ‘It’s rough up there.’
‘I know,’ Jess says. ‘The mind boggles.’
‘And what do you think Zoe was smoking?’ I ask.