Chapter 22
‘From the outside it doesn’t look like much,’ I say to Pete as we stand in front of the flats.
‘The same could be said about me.’ He chuckles, too long, at his own joke.
In the rhythm of our flirtation I’m supposed to say something like ‘Oh that’s not true’, but I need my energy for what’s to come, so I make a noise that could be mistaken for a laugh but definitely isn’t as I open the door.
When the stench of the house hits him, Pete’s chuckle turns into a cough.
‘Sorry, should have mentioned the smell sooner. The clean-up and renovation work involved will be factored into the price.’
‘And what are we looking at price-wise?’ He holds the door open for me, like a proper gentleman, before he follows me in.
Comparing prices online has told me a property in this part of Glasgow with proximity to transport links and amenities would normally go for over ￡450,000.
Take in the state of the place and ￡420,000 would be right.
To keep Pete keen, I round this down. ‘The owner inherited it from a family member. They’ve no interest in keeping ahold of it, they want a quick sale, so I think for the right buyer we could do ￡390,000. ’
Pete lets out a whistle between his teeth. ‘I mean, that alone makes me want to put in my offer right away. Can I have a nosey?’
‘Absolutely.’ The big light casts a clinical glow across the space.
Being the professional man of property he is, Pete doesn’t make me go through the charade of trying to sell him the place by describing things he can work out for himself.
He goes into each room, looks it up and down like he did in the shots when he was his squidgier, younger self in Fixer Uppers Go Under the Hammer.
There’s no small talk; his brow furrows and flattens at points as he assesses what he sees.
In the bathroom, the stain of the uncle is less dramatic than I’d remembered it.
Pete certainly doesn’t seem as interested in it as I was.
‘Alright if I have a look at the other flat?’
I don’t go in with him. Instead I prepare on the landing, getting what I need from my bag until Pete reappears with a smug air about him.
‘Has anyone else viewed here?’
‘Nope, only me and my boss.’
‘Perfect…’
It seems to have only occurred to him now that he doesn’t know my name. I fill in the blank for him. ‘Jennifer.’ He also hasn’t asked where I work, so I hand him a business card. ‘I’m new so I don’t have one with my name on it yet.’
He doesn’t examine the details of it, just slides it into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. ‘So, Jennifer, fancy going to get a juice together to discuss all this? And maybe some other stuff, too?’
‘A juice? With me?’ Maybe I’m not as bad at flirting as I thought.
‘Don’t drink alcohol or caffeine when I’m cutting, but we could get a juice. There’s a place not far from here. A walk in the fresh air would do us good after being in here, eh?’
‘Sounds great. I’ll lock up and get you downstairs in a sec.
’ I shoogle the keys so I sound like I’m doing what I said, when what I’m actually doing is waiting for him to reach the wonky step I noticed earlier.
It makes him the perfect height to shove down the stairs so he will fall, injure himself and be prohibited from enjoying the things he loves for a while, the way his tenants aren’t able to enjoy a secure home or safe electrics.
‘What?’ He says, not falling face first but onto his arse.
Pete not being fully incapacitated is an eventuality I’ve prepared for. ‘Are you OK? Do you need a hand getting up?’
The charming gentleman Pete we have all known and loved vanishes. Pulling on the banister, he comes up to his full height and turns to me, unblinking, his jaw set solid. It’s safe to say I don’t think he wants to get a juice with me anymore.
‘What the fuck did you do? What kind of fucking game are you playing?’
This is frightening, not part of the plan. Thrilling in its own terrifying way. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you fucking do.’
Panic flutters in my chest. Pete shoves me in the spot where it congregates, and the sting of him using nowhere near his full force against me tells me this is the time to grab for the hammer I got from my bag a moment ago.
The hammer is from Colin’s toolbox. I thought, given Pete’s physical strength, having some back-up was a good idea.
‘There’s no need for that, is there? We’ve had a misunderstanding.
’ I back away from him as he reaches the peak of the stairs.
Pete’s breath whistles in and out of his mouth through his gritted teeth.
His decision to attack me properly is clear.
He blinks, his mouth slackens before he draws his fist back.
The space this creates between our bodies is large enough for me to get good height on the swing of the hammer; it flies above my head and smashes into Pete’s.
His fist barely makes impact with my face, but I wince as it does, expecting to be struck again harder.
I’m not. My blow to Pete has caused him to fall backwards onto the stairs, his head connecting with the edge of one.
For a minute I catch my breath, appreciate I only have a stinging cheek and not a broken nose or worse.
When I’m calmer I go to the edge of the staircase, hammer in hand in case Pete comes for me again.
Looking at him twitching, his jagged breaths slowing to nothing, I realise Pete is no longer a danger to me or anyone else.
My urge to flee is overtaken by my desire not to get in trouble.
I pop the hammer into my gym bag, making sure no trace of me is left behind.
Then I sit on the landing and look down on Pete’s body.
His skin’s going a funny colour; it turns out there’s only so much paleness a spray tan can cover.
Watching him like this ensures he is actually dead and not pretending to be, while also allowing me to absorb that I have – yet again – done some light manslaughter.
Actually, maybe that’s not right. It was self-defence, kill or be killed.
Pete chose violence and I was the one who came out victorious.
I don’t feel like a winner as I lock up the house and walk back to the car, my legs aching from the treadmill.
But I do know I’m alive. Maybe for the first time in my existence I truly know it.