She could tell by the way he slurred his words that he’d been drinking. The police either hadn’t found him, then, or had let him go before closing time.
He rattled the door. “Brenda! It’s fucking cold out here. Let me in.”
Still she ignored him, sitting on the staircase, arms wrapped around herself.
The letterbox opened. “I know you’re in there,” he said. “Have a heart, Brenda.”
She stood up and walked down the stairs to the door. “Go away,” she said. “I don’t want you here any more. Go away.”
“Brenda!” He was still on his knees by the letterbox. “Don’t be daft, love. Let me in. We’ll talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Go away.”
“Where? This is my home. It’s all I’ve got.”
“Go back to the police. I’m sure they’ll give you a bed for the night.”
He was silent for a few moments. Then she heard shuffling outside. The letterbox snapped shut, then opened again. “It wasn’t nothing, love,” he said. “A mistake. It was some other bloke they were after.”
“Liar.”
“It was. Honest it was.”
“What have you done with my Gemma?”
Another pause, even longer this time, then, “How could you think such a thing? It wasn’t nothing to do with that. Look, let me in. It’s raining. I’ll catch cold. I’m freezing my goolies off out here.”
“Good.”
“Brenda! The neighbours are watching.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“What about my things?”
Brenda dashed up to the bedroom. Les’s “things,” such as they were, shouldn’t take up much space. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, but she managed to stand on a chair and get an old suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. First, she emptied out his underwear drawer. Shirts and trousers followed, then she tossed in his old denim jacket. He was wearing the leather one, she remembered. She dropped a couple of pairs of shoes on the top, then went into the bathroom and picked up his razor, shaving cream, toothbrush. For some reason, she didn’t know why, she also picked up a package of tampons and put them in the suitcase, too, smiling as she did so. And on further thought, she took his condoms from the bedside drawer and put them in as well.
Enjoying herself more than she had since her TV appearance, Brenda searched around for anything else that belonged to him. A comb. Brylcreem. Half a packet of cigarettes. No, she would keep them for herself. Nothing else.
As she struggled to fasten the suitcase, she could hear him outside in the street yelling up at her: “Brenda! Come on, Brenda, let me in. Please. I’m freezing to death out here.”
She walked over to the window. Les stood by the gate at the bottom of the path, partly lit by a nearby street- lamp. Across the street, lights came on as people opened their doors or peered through curtains to see what was going on. This would give the neighbours something to talk about, Brenda thought, as she opened the window.
Les looked up at her. For a moment, she remembered a scene in a play they’d taken her to see with the school years ago, where some wally in tights down on the ground had been chatting up a bird on a balcony. She
giggled and swayed, then got a hold on herself. After all, she had an audience. “Bugger off, Les,” she yelled. “I’ve had enough of you and your filthy ways. If it wasn’t for you I’d still have my Gemma.”
“Open the fucking door, cow,” said Les, “or I’ll kick it down. You never liked the little bitch anyway.”
“I loved my daughter,” said Brenda. “It was you used to upset her. Where is she, Les? What have you done with her?”
Another door opened down the street. “Be quiet,” a woman shouted. “My husband’s got to get up to go to work at five o’clock in the morning.”
“Shut up, you stuck-up old bag,” shouted someone else. “Your husband’s never done a day’s work in his life. This is the best show we’ve had in ages.” Bursts of laughter echoed down the street.
A window slid open. “Give him hell, love!” a woman’s voice encouraged Brenda.
“What’s going on?” someone else asked. “Has anyone called the police yet?”
“See what you’ve started,” Les said, looking around at the gathering of neighbours and trying to keep his voice down. “Come on, love, let me in. We’ll have a cuddle and talk about it. I’ve done nowt wrong.”
“And what about that telly?” Brenda taunted him. “Where did that come from, eh? Have you noticed the way the police look at it every time they come here?”
“Must be fans of ‘The Bill,’” someone joked, and the neighbours laughed. “Anyone got a bottle,” the joker continued. “I could do with a wee nip.”
“Buy your own, you tight-fisted old bugger,” came the reply.
“Open the door,” Les pleaded. “Brenda, come on, love, have mercy.”
“I’ll not show no mercy for you, you snake. Where’s
my Gemma?”
“I’ll do you for bloody slander, I will,” yelled Les. “Making accusations like that in front of witnesses.” He turned to the nearest neighbour, an old woman in a dressing-gown. “You heard her, didn’t you?”
“Maybe she’s right,” said the woman.
