“It looks just like the photos!”
“So it does.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go find your room, poppet. We don’t want to leave your things in everyone’s way.”
Ellie hurried upstairs to the narrow second floor, knocking on doors instead of trying her key.
“What is it?” a girl’s voice barked from a room across from the bathroom.
“Hi! My name’s Eleanor but you can call me Ellie. I’m your new housemate.”
“I’m busy.”
“Sure, sure! Sorry to bother you. We’ll chat later! Daddy, there’s another girl here!” Ellie hesitated to see if the girl would open the door after all. When she did not, Ellie followed the staircase up to the third floor, which stank of fried chicken and chips. The source of the smell came from a room halfway down the hall, where a boy with headphones jammed on top of his ears sat on his bed, flipping through a magazine and eating from a takeaway box between his legs. A Bon Jovi poster hung at an angle above his bed. When he noticed Ellie, he wiped his hands on his jeans and slipped off his headphones.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi! I’m Ellie.”
“Hollis.”
She lingered in the doorway, twisting her foot into the carpet, unsure of what else to say. The boy, Hollis, chewed a mouthful of chicken, waiting for her to speak. Her father’s panting breaths broke the silence as he arrived on the top floor, a piece of luggage in each hand.
“Did you find it, poppet?” He spotted Hollis. “Ah, hello.”
“Here, let me help.” Hollis rolled off the bed and took a suitcase from her father. She could see the sheen of grease on his fingers but said nothing.
“That’s very kind of you. Eleanor, dear, find your room, please.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry, Daddy.” Her key opened the door to the left of Hollis’s. “Look! We’re neighbors.”
Hollis shrugged. Her father frowned. Ellie clapped her hands. The room was bigger than she imagined, with a beautiful view overlooking the back garden through dirt-streaked windows. Various stains marred the cream carpet, but she could find a rug to cover them.
“I think you brought too much,” her father said as Hollis brought the first suitcase inside.
“Don’t be silly, Daddy. I’ll get some under-the-bed boxes and a few crates. And we packed a fabric wardrobe, didn’t we? That can go right there, and if I ask, I’m sure the agency will let me hang a shelf or two, don’t you think?”
“Yes, well”—he checked his watch—“let’s get the rest then. Your sister’s play is tonight. Mother will be cross if I’m late.”
Ellie followed her father downstairs to see him off.
“You have everything?” he asked. “Keys?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Credit card?”
“Yes.”
“Which is for . . .”
“Emergencies only.”
“Call your mother or me if you need anything.”
“I will, Daddy.”
“All right then. Study hard. Be a good girl.”
“I will.”
With a honk of the horn, he drove away, and she waved to the car until it was no longer in sight. Alone on the unfamiliar street, goose-bumps rose on her skin. She rubbed her arms to keep them warm, then stepped back into the house.
Upstairs, Hollis had closed his door. She raised her hand to knock but let it drop and returned to her room. Before, it seemed so large. Now, filled with suitcases and bags and boxes, it had become incredibly small, and with every item she unpacked, it continued to shrink. She could find no home for any of her belongings. Half her things were in the wrong spot. The other half were in the way. In frustration, she kicked her teddy bear across the room and let out a muffled scream into her pillow. Then, with a deep breath, she sat on the edge of the bed, smoothed a loose strand of hair, and stared at the catastrophic mess around her, unsure of what to do.
As Ellie waited for someone to save her from her loneliness, a BMW pulled up with a screech alongside the sidewalk. Oliver Holcombe had barely switched off the engine before he was out of the car. He looked the house up and down and flicked his cigarette end into the road.
“This is fucking brilliant.” He grabbed his bags, ready to mark his territory, but two steps inside, the stench of fresh lemon and bleach assaulted him. A fit blonde bent over a crap sofa, wiping down the skirting board.
“They didn’t mention maid service.”
“Oh!” She dropped her rag. “No, I got bored waiting for people. And whenever my mum gets bored she cleans, so I guess I’m turning into my mum, which will be a terrible surprise to her I’m sure and—”
“Hey, it’s cool. Oliver.” He watched her melt.
“Ellie.”
“So, Ellie, now that you’ve fixed the place up, how do you feel about hosting a little party tonight?”
“I don’t—”
“Excellent. We’ll say ten, so expect people around eleven, eleven-thirty. If you could grab crisps or beer or something, that would be brilliant. There a toilet upstairs?”
Ellie nodded. “One floor up. It’s the first door on the right. And if you continue to the other end of the hall, there’s another set of stairs and that will take you to the top floor and that’s where my room is. Along with another boy. His name is Hollis, and he helped me carry my luggage—”
“Brill!” He silenced her with a wave of his hand and jogged up the stairs, wondering if Princess Chatterbox’s obvious insecurity was worth the potential pursuit. He would have to check out the other housemates first. There was one now—a short-haired brunette with a decent rack emerging from the bathroom.
“Hey.” He leaned against the wall. “I’m—”
“I know exactly what you are. Keep your eyes off my breasts.” She disappeared into a bedroom across the hall.
“Lesbo.” Oliver kicked the bathroom door shut, pulled down his zip, and released the piss he’d been holding in since the A25. Tilting his head back for maximum arch, he stared at the black mold clusters on the ceiling and let out a relieved sigh. He shook the last few drops free then zipped up, kicking his toe at the white-painted plywood that covered the side of the tub.
“Cheap shit.”
To his dismay, his bedroom was located next to the bathroom near the Bitch with Breasts. The carpet was so thin it might as well have not existed, and the light blue curtains made from old bed sheets did little to keep out the light. As for the bed, there was none, only a mattress on the floor. The room proudly said “fuck you,” and Oliver said it right back. Dropping his bag by the door, he tossed himself onto the mattress. Black mold speckled the corners here, too. If he squinted, it almost looked like wallpaper. Maybe it’d be all right, he thought, lighting a cigarette. He could sell the no-bed thing as new-wave free-love bullshit to the pretty young things he’d be pursuing over Freshers’ Week. Cover the mold with some posters. Yeah, the mold he could handle, but this mattress would be bad for his back. That’s what his physical therapist would say, he thought, trying to straighten his right knee. He’d call Mum, tell her what size and style he needed and when he needed it by. Right about now she’d be napping by his half-sister’s crib, but the call would wake her. Oliver kicked his bags toward the wall with his good leg, then changed into fresh clothes. He had plenty to do before the party, mainly finding people to invite. He grabbed his wallet and headed out.