From below Pru’s feet came the plaintive wail: ‘Man, get that guy out of here ...’
If Pru had been Dulcie she would have yelled back that it served him bloody well right and one night of Phil Kasteliz in exchange for all those months of drippy Donovan was a pretty good swap.
But Pm, who wasn’t Dulcie, was terrified at the prospect of upsetting a neighbour, even if he was a dope-head devoted to Donovan.
‘Stop it,’ she yelled in a strangled whisper, waving her arms at Phil in an attempt to hush him up.
‘I’m coming down.’
When she opened the front door, he tripped over the step. She practically had to carry him upstairs to her room.
‘How did you find this place anyway?’ Pru gasped.
Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Phil finally pulled out his wallet. He showed Pru the letter she had written to him months earlier letting him know her new address.
‘Showed it to the taxi driver,’ Phil confided. ‘He brought me straight here.’
Pru marvelled at her own lack of response. She had written that letter with tears streaming down her cheeks. At the time, she would have given anything in the world for Phil to show it to a taxi driver and be brought straight here. Fantasising that it might happen had been about the only thing that had kept her going.
And now he was here ..
She felt nothing.
‘Why?’ said Pru.
‘Had a row with Blanche.’ Phil collapsed heavily on the bed, still clutching his wallet.
‘What about?’
‘She’s just a bad-tempered bitch.’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘Honestly, all she did was yell at me. Just because I was a bit late home.’ He looked up at Pru, his eyes bloodshot. ‘You never yelled at me.’
‘I know I didn’t.’ To yell, or not to yell, thought Pru. Which was best?
‘She’s mad because I had a couple of drinks. Bloody cow wouldn’t let me into the house.’
Phil shook his head again in disbelief and tried to fit the bulging wallet back into his pocket.
When it wouldn’t do as he wanted, he gave up and chucked it on to the pillow behind him.
Pru’s eyes widened as the wallet fell open, revealing a great wodge of notes.
‘Got something to drink, Pru? Brandy, Scotch, anything like that.’
‘Nothing, sorry.’ She was still staring in disbelief at the wallet.
‘What?’ Alarmed, Phil tried to look over his shoulder. ‘What is it, a spider?’
‘That money! Have you been to the casino?’
He grinned and nodded, and put an unsteady finger to his lips.
‘Sshh.’
‘You won?’ said Pru, astounded.
‘Course I won. Didn’t I tell you I’d get there in the end?Only don’t tell Blanche, okay? That stroppy bitch isn’t getting her hands on this. It’s my money, I won it fair and square.’ Phil doubled up with laughter. ‘Except roulette wheels aren’t square. Better say I won it fair and round, ha ha ha.’
‘How much did you win?’ whispered Pru, all the hairs at the back of her neck standing up.
‘Don’t know. Haven’t had a chance to count it yet.’ He laughed again. ‘Bloody loads. Pru, come on, have a drink with me to celebrate. You must have a bottle hidden away somewhere.’
‘Oh man, I don’t believe this.’
Donovan was wearing a grubby grey T-shirt and – yuk – a pair of ancient maroon Y-fronts. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face as if needing to convince himself Pru was real.
‘I’m sorry, I know it’s late,’ said Pru sweetly, marvelling at her own bravery. Here she was, out of the blue, doing it again. Being Assertive.
‘Whadya want, man? It’s, like, the middle of the night.’
‘We need something to drink.’ Pru got straight to the point. ‘I don’t have anything. I thought perhaps you might.’
Donovan stared at her. He’d never managed to figure out what Pru was doing living above him, a posh bird in a dump like this. And now here she was, cool as a cucumber on his doorstep at four in the frigging morning, acting like one of those women who wave collecting tins under your nose, asking if he could spare a bottle or two for a good cause.
‘Like what?’ he said warily. 'Cause I’m fresh out of Bollinger, if that’s what you’re after.’
‘Anything,’ said Pru.
She made her way back upstairs clutching two cans of Special Brew and a half-empty flagon of cider which Donovan assured her had only been opened a couple of days ago, so it still had some life in it.
Pru only hoped, as she nudged open the door with her foot, that Phil still had some life left in him. Since she’d gone to the trouble of getting him something to drink, he’d better still be awake enough to drink it.
He had, but only just. While Pru chattered brightly away to him, Phil lolled across the bed and finished off the cider. Then he opened one of the cans of lager but most of it went down the front of his crumpled white shirt. Pru
