He picked up the frame that sat on the coffee table beside the couch. Inside was a photograph of Liz that Danny had taken on a summer’s day in Hyde Park a couple of years ago. She was lying on the grass with her cheek on her arm and a smile on her face that was sleepy from the warm weather and the bottle of red they’d been sharing. The dress she was wearing, patterned with flowers, had barely left the wardrobe that year due to an even wetter summer than usual, and that was the last time she’d worn it before returning it to the hanger from which it still hung. Any hint of his wife had long since left the garment, but Danny still found himself checking on occasion, burying his face in the dress and breathing in whatever microscopic trace of her scent might still be trapped within the fibers of the fabric.
He ran his thumb across her cheek and smiled. Then, as he clutched his wife to his chest, Danny’s shoulders began to shake as he sobbed as quietly as he could.
CHAPTER 6
Will was in the middle of not eating his breakfast when somebody banged on the door so hard that the neighbor’s letterbox chattered in protest. Will looked nervously at Danny, who looked towards the hallway. Neither of them moved, Danny’s arm suspended with his mug halfway to his lips and Will’s fingers tightening around his slowly wilting piece of toast.
Danny didn’t need to answer the door to know who was on the other side. Only one person knocked like that. Only one person knocked at all. Normal people just used the doorbell, but Reg wasn’t a normal person. Whether he was even a person at all was a point of ongoing debate among those unfortunate enough to know him. Many saw him as a different species entirely, and one that should have been extinct, not just because of his poor diet, his high blood pressure, and his questionable life choices but because the world would simply be a much nicer place without him. Reg was the sort of person who would run into a burning orphanage and come out with the furniture, the sort of person who didn’t cheer for the good guy or the bad guy because he wanted everyone to die, the sort of person who would puncture a football that strayed into his garden before chucking it back over the fence, and the sort of person who wouldn’t think twice about puncturing tenants who didn’t pay their rent on time—tenants like Danny, who hadn’t paid his rent for the last two months.
The banging stopped and the radio filled the silence with an idiotic jingle for a local car dealership.
“I think he’s gone,” whispered Danny, his eyes moving around the room as if he were tracking a fly. The moment he took a sip of tea, however, he almost threw it over himself as the banging resumed with renewed intensity.
Worried that the door was about to leave its hinges, and worried that Reg would bill him for the damage, Danny got up and cautiously peered through the spyhole.
Reg was standing in the corridor, his sagging body held upright by a pair of grubby elbow crutches. He leaned into them with his back slightly arched and his arse jutting out, a stance that always reminded Danny of a posturing gorilla, although gorillas were generally friendlier than Reg and only attacked when threatened. His cheeks were more flushed than usual, the broken lift having forced him to take the stairs, and on his head sat an unwashed flat-cap saturated in decades of pomade. Standing behind him was a towering square-headed man with short-cropped hair as black as his suit. The two men looked comically distorted through the fish-eye lens of the spyhole, and Reg didn’t look any less distorted when Danny opened the door.
“About fucking time,” said Reg as he barged past Danny. “Get the kettle on.”
“Reg,” said Danny. He craned his neck to meet the eyes of the other man. “Dent,” he said, moving out of the doorway so Mr. Dent could enter.
Will watched the men trickle into the living room, his limp piece of toast still pinched between his fingers. Mr. Dent took Reg’s crutches and helped him into Danny’s chair before seating himself beside Will. Danny hovered like a nervous shop assistant as his son disappeared in Mr. Dent’s shadow.
“I don’t hear the water boiling,” said Reg.
Danny leaned into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, his eyes still on his uninvited guests.
“What’s that, then?” said Reg, pointing at Will’s toast. “Peanut butter?”
Will looked down at his breakfast and then back up at Reg. He nodded.
Reg looked at Mr. Dent, who slid the plate away from Will and parked it in front of his boss.
“Not bad, that,” said Reg, flecks of toast and peanut butter spattering the table as he spoke. “I prefer the smooth stuff, though, being the smooth bastard that I am.”
Danny laughed, but not too much.
“Still giving it the silent treatment, is he?” said Reg, nodding at Will, who began to fidget beneath his gaze. Danny shrugged and mumbled something in the affirmative.
“You got it lucky,” said Reg. “Seen and not heard, as it should be. You want to meet my youngest, right little gobshite that one, can’t never shut him up. Just like his mother, drives me fucking daft.”
Reg wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and wiped the back of his hand on his trousers. He took out a packet of Superkings and slipped a cigarette between his lips.
“We don’t—” Danny cut himself short, but not short enough.
“We don’t what, Daniel?” said Reg, leaning into the flame that Mr. Dent was holding out for him.
“Nothing.”
“We. Don’t. What. Daniel?” Reg’s tone implied that Danny would be sorry if he made him ask a third time.
“We don’t… I mean… it’s just… it’s a nonsmoking house.”
“Is it?” said Reg. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and sent a cloud of blue-gray smoke towards Danny. “Remind me again, Dan, because I’m obviously fucking stupid, but whose house is this?”
“It’s yours,” said Danny.
“See, that’s what I thought too, but the way you were talking made it sound like it was your house. Do you see where my confusion arose?”
“Yes, Reg. Sorry, Reg.”
“So, whose house is this?”
“It’s your house.”
“And who makes the rules?”
“You do.”
“You’re fucking right I do. So don’t you ever tell me what to do in my own fucking house again. You got that?”
“Yes, Reg.”
“And anyways,” said Reg, tapping ash into Danny’s tea, “I wouldn’t worry about a little passive smoking. Not if I were you. If I were you, I’d be more concerned about the other things in life that could pose serious risks to your health. Like, oh, I don’t know, not paying your rent on time, for example.”
“Will, why don’t you go wait for Mo downstairs,” said Danny. Will hesitated. “It’s okay, mate. Me and Reg just want to have a little chat.”
Will grabbed his schoolbag and shuffled out of the room.
“Sit down, for fuck’s sake,” said Reg, pointing to Will’s recently vacated seat. “You’re making me nervous.”
Danny sat down at the head of the table, as far from Reg and Dent as possible.
“Look, Reg, I know why you’re here and—”
“I know why I’m here. I’m here because this is my fucking flat. What I don’t know is why you’re still here.”