Chapter 6
At nine-fifteen the following morning, Ana’s deep sleep was rudely disturbed by a team of four wide-eyed women in nylon cleaning coats, three half-naked men from Newcastle and Mr Arif, all arriving at the same time.
She had barely detached herself from her dreams, and acknowledged the existence of a hideous hangover when she found herself peering through the spy-hole into the enlarged eyeball of a grinning Mr Arif.
And there they were, standing behind him. Dozens of them.
‘Good morning, Miss Wills! And tell me. How are my fine ladies here to clean my flat when there are also here these three large gentlemen?’ He pulled his monogrammed hanky from his pocket, wiped his brow and gestured dismissively at the bare-chested men behind him.
As he walked into the flat the four women dutifully piled in behind him, clutching buckets, mops and carrying cases full of cleaning products.
‘Well, maybe,’ began Ana, tugging self-consciously at her pyjamas, ‘the ladies could start in the kitchen and bathroom and these gentlemen can begin removing these things – you are … you are here to remove things, aren’t you?
’ she asked, thinking suddenly how embarrassing it would be if they weren’t and they were actually journalists or something.
The three nodded. ‘Good, excellent. And maybe while you’re all doing that, I could – er – get dressed? ’
‘Yes, yes, yes, of course, Miss Wills. Of course. Ladies’ – he turned to the somewhat sad-looking women behind him, all in their twenties but with the demeanour of women in their forties – ‘follow me, if you please.’
Ana scuttled into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
This was horrible. After the intimacy she’d experienced last night while she was here alone, the presence of so many strangers was deeply upsetting – and so final.
The moment that last box was heaved into the big white van out there, she would have to leave, and she would never be allowed to return.
Because it wouldn’t be Bee’s flat any more.
It would be the flat of some Prima Ballerina.
And, quite to her own surprise, Ana wanted to stay here.
Not for ever or anything, but she wanted another night, at least, just to breathe in the atmosphere and get to know her sister.
But instead, she would be sitting on a train, all alone, hurtling back to Great Torrington and her bedroom.
And, more depressingly, to her mother. Ana sighed and moved towards the window.
Down on the street below, one of the burly, bare-chested removals men was already hoisting a box into the back of the van.
Ana recognized it as the one into which she’d packed Bee’s shoes and felt suddenly and horribly sad.
It didn’t take long to load up Bee’s paltry possessions, and by ten-thirty Ana was waving off Bez, Al and Geoff and watching Bee’s life trundle down Bickenhall Street towards Devon. She had an appointment with Bee’s solicitor at twelve, so she returned to the flat to bid farewell.
Mr Arif was also preparing to leave, slotting paperwork into the inside sleeve of a maroon leather attaché case and whistling under his breath.
‘So, Madam,’ he said, smiling widely at her now that he was convinced that everything was under control, that the flat was being cleaned and that his Prima Ballerina could happily move in the next morning, ‘now it is all over. Your sister is in boxes and your task is complete. To where are you going now?’
Ana shrugged. ‘Well – I’ve got to see Bee’s solicitor first, sort out her financial affairs, that sort of thing. Then I’m going home. I guess.’
‘And home is?’
‘Home is Devon.’
‘Ah yes! The beautiful English countryside. You are very lucky. Very lucky girl. Maybe if your lovely sister here had stayed in the beautiful English countryside, instead of living here in this cesspool city, then this bad thing here would never have happened?’ He laughed, uproariously, and highly inappropriately, but it suddenly struck Ana that here was a man who may have been with Bee recently, may have had conversations with her while she was living and breathing – and possibly contemplating dying.
‘Mr Arif,’ she began, ‘I, er, didn’t see my sister very much in the last few years. Twelve years, in fact. I just wondered if you’d spoken to her recently or anything. You know – how she’d seemed?’
‘Seemed?’ questioned Mr Arif, his hooded eyes springing open momentarily in surprise, ‘seemed?’ He clicked closed his attaché case and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.
‘Madam – I find this question very peculiar. If you are asking me how she seemed, all I can say is that she seemed like a very beautiful, very charming tenant who paid her rent on time and who died on her bed and left herself for me to find. Now. I have many urgent appointments and I will have to be leaving you. I thank you for your efficiency and I wish you a safe and pleasant journey home, Miss Wills.’
He turned to leave but Ana had one last thought. ‘The cat, Mr Arif …?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Bee’s cat. What happened to him?’
‘Ah. The animal. Naughty Miss Bearhorn deceived me for many months with her animal. But her deception was uncovered and now her animal resides with a friend.’
‘Friend? Which friend?’
‘Oh my goodness, Miss Wills. You cannot expect me to be knowing all this minutiae of my tenants. A friend. That is all I know. Now I leave.’
And then he left, the only sign that he’d ever been there the dense fug of aftershave lingering in the living room.