Chapter Twenty-Two Void Space
Void Space
By the time Jake pulled up outside the Briggs’ place, the street was in that quiet lull between teatime and evening telly.
This was a waste of time. He knew it was.
Old houses made noise. Roofs shifted. Things knocked and creaked when the temperature dropped.
And he wouldn’t get paid for being here, fixing something he’d not done right the first time around.
He grabbed his tool belt, anyway. This was his penance for being the bloke everyone called.
For taking jobs on a kiss and a promise. Or a brew and a handshake.
And for being a tradesman who bloody cared.
Eileen had the door open before he even knocked. “Oh, thanks so much for coming, love.” She stepped back to let him in. “I were going mad.”
Jake nodded towards the stairs. “Let’s have a look, then.”
“If you can do it before Ron gets back from golf, that’d really help. Told him I wouldn’t bother you. We’ve not got a lot of pension left, see. Used it all on the insulation.”
“I take my payment in brew, Eileen.” Jake winked. “You know that. That kettle boiled yet?”
She smiled gratefully. “I’ll go make a pot, eh?”
“You know how I like it.” Jake smiled back, then headed up the stairs and straight for the loft hatch.
The ladder groaned under his boots as he climbed, then he shouldered open the hatch.
Heat hit him first. Thick, trapped, with nowhere to go.
Then the dust. Dry, clinging, sticking to the back of his throat as he heaved in a breath tasting stale.
The immersion tank sat in the corner, radiating warmth.
Eileen must’ve had it cranked up again, trying to chase heat through the house while Ron was out and not there to moan about the cost. Up here, though, it sat and built.
Layer upon layer of it. Until the loft felt less like storage and more like a sauna.
A slow-cooked space. Air that hadn’t moved in hours.
He hauled himself up into the heat, boards warm through his palms as he crouched low, careful of the pitch of the roof pressing close above him. Sweat prickled almost instantly at the base of his spine, shirt sticking where it met his back. There, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim.
Nothing jumped out. No shift. No disturbance.
Same as he’d left it.
Boards laid clean. Insulation snug between the joists.
No dips, no tears, no sign of anything being pulled back or pushed aside.
But he moved across the joists, careful with his footing, listening to give Eileen the benefit of the doubt.
Do a proper job, for a proper cuppa. Still, there was nothing. The quiet pressed in on his ears.
Until a faint tick cracked through the board. Timber settling. Normal.
Jake exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Just the house, Eileen,” he called down the open hatch.
“You sure, love?” she shouted back. “House never used to make that noise.”
He edged closer to the party wall. The thin, shared line between Eileen’s loft and next door’s.
In terraces like this, sound didn’t respect boundaries.
It bled through brick, travelled along beams, turned something next door into something right above your head.
So he cast a quick glance across the rafters.
No sign of a conversion on the other side.
No reinforced flooring, no light spill, no clean lines of a space turned into a gym or an office.
From what he’d seen outside, next door would be much the same as this.
Low, cramped, forgotten. A place for boxes and broken things.
Christmas decorations dragged out once a year and left to gather dust. But he paused. Listened through the wall, anyway.
Nothing.
He gave the beam a light knock with his knuckles. Solid. No give. No obvious gap cutting through the space between properties.
“Aye,” he called down. “Nowt there.”
He shuffled back, climbed down the ladder, and dropped onto the landing, dust clinging to his clothes. By the time he reached the kitchen, the tea was strong enough for his liking, and Eileen poured out a mug from her knitted-cosied teapot.
“Here y’are. Looks like you need it.”
Jake took the mug with a smile. “Cheers, Eileen.”
He leaned back against the counter, facing the window, the thin lace netting softening everything beyond it.
The street sat quiet. Cars lined up, curtains drawn, a stillness that said the day was done.
Beyond that, the land opened out. Moor and woodland stretching dark at the edges of town.
Off to the side, the steelworks loomed, all hard lines and distant industry.
He kept his eyes on it as he took a sip.
That view. It always dragged him back there.
Out into the trees. Into the places people didn’t go looking properly.
Where things could be hidden. Forgotten. Left.
Where are you, big sis?
Was she still out there? Had she been there all this time? Somewhere in that stretch of land he could see from where he now drank Eileen’s brew? Buried beneath it. Lost to it. Was she alone? Or…
Did she have another young girl keeping her company now?
“It’s really nowt?” Eileen cut through his thoughts.
“All looks sound.” Jake brushed his hand down his trousers, smearing dust into the fabric. “Insulation’s doing what it should. No gaps I can see.”
“But the noise?”
“Could be summat shifting further along. Sound travels funny in these places. Especially through loft space.”
Eileen sighed, wrapping her hands around her mug. “We can’t afford to move. That insulation were supposed to block it out.”
Jake nodded, taking another sip. Not much he could do about that. He was skint himself. And yet was here, taking payment in tea.
“How’s your mum, love? She alright?”
“She’s alright. Same as.”
Eileen gave a small, sympathetic hum. “Always feel for her. My boys upped and left years ago. One’s in Australia. Sydney. Hate him being that far away.” She shook her head. “Still… least I can pick up the phone.”
Jake drained the rest of the tea in one go, the heat catching in his throat. Then he pushed off the counter, ready to leave when a van pulled up hard outside. Right behind his. “Oi—” Jake stepped closer to the window.
He watched as a man climbed out. Mid-forties, maybe. Stocky. Work gear. He opened the back of the van and hauled out a load of stuff. Bags, something bulky. All from the local B&Q rather than the trade shit he got.
“Who’s that, Eileen?”
“Oh, that’s Mick. Lives next door.”
“Git’s blocked me in.”
“Oh, has he?” Eileen joined him at the window, peering out. “That van’s new. Hired. He usually drives a little Focus. But he’s been back and forward with that van for a week now. He’ll move it in a mo.”
Jake glanced at her. “He moving house?”
She shook her head. “Not that he’s said. Nowts gone to the tip. Was hoping he’d get a skip in. Could throw Ron’s golf clubs on it.”
“Shouldn’t do that, Eileen. Means he’ll be under your feet all day.”
“Aye, that he will.”
“What’s he do? Next door?” Jake angled his head towards the van blocking him in. “He a trader?”
“Works down the steel place. Same as most round here. My Ron included. So maybe he’s moving stuff for them? It’ll be gone in a minute. He comes back, then goes as quick.”
Jake stayed where he was, watching the house, waiting to see if the bloke came back out.
Then…bang.
Sharp enough to rattle the glass.
Eileen flinched, splaying her hand on her chest. “Oh, blimey. There, y’see. That’s one of them noises.”
Jake turned his head towards the stairs and glanced up at the open loft hatch above.
“Think that answers it.” He angled his head. “It’s next door.”
Eileen peered up at him. “Late at night, though?”
Jake tilted his head, listening again, a tightening low in his chest.
“Maybe he’s doing work up there. Building summat.” He set the mug down on the draining board. “I’ll go ask him.”
He hopped outside, scaled the small fence between the houses and banged on the next door.
He was about to knock again when the door finally opened and Mick filled the doorway, broader up close than Jake had expected, shoulders blocking most of the light behind him, along with a smell lingering with him. Metal. Sweat. A staleness beneath it.
Jake jerked his thumb back towards Eileen’s place. “Eh up, mate. I’ve been doing some work next door. Loft insulation.”
Mick’s gaze rolled past him, as if checking the street, the gardens, who might be watching. Then it landed back on Jake. “So?”
“We’ve had a bit of noise carrying through. Banging up in the roof space. You got summat going on up there?”
Mick looked at him, eyes widening. “Uh…no.”
“Aye, well, Mrs Briggs next door says she can hear some stuff at night, and I’ve checked her structure’s all sound. Could come in and check yours if you like.”
“No.”
“I’m a legit roofer.” Jake slipped a hand into his back pocket, producing one of his business cards. Not that it would scream professional, but it at least gave him something. He held it out. “Won’t charge to take a look.”
Mick didn’t take it. “I can’t hear no sounds.”
Jake nodded. “Right. Fair enough. Only Eileen’s convinced summat’s not right. Make her feel better if I checked your roof won’t collapse on you. Or her.”
“It’ll be gone soon.” Mick stepped away from the door, ready to close it.
Jake pressed his palm to the wood. “What? The roof?”
“The noises.”
“Right. What’s making them, then?”
“Nowt.” Mick shoved the door harder, and Jake had to step back, dropping his hand as Mick slammed it in his face. Hard enough, the frame rattled.
Jake went back to Eileen’s.
“Everything alright, love?” Eileen called from the kitchen as he stepped in.
Jake stopped, glanced up the stairs to the hatch. “Gonna have another quick look, Eileen.”
“Alright, love. I’ll pour you another brew, shall I?”