16
A bank holiday weekend normally meant three days of non-stop fun, hanging out with the gang: drinking, dancing, discovering cool new places. Barbecues, box sets and karaoke nights, or something random like axe-throwing, followed by cocktails at a popup bar. There was always something fun happening in London – as long as you had other people to enjoy it with.
Sinead was into day two of nothing going on, and she was bored out of her mind. There was no work, but no play either. She’d read every newspaper, magazine and cereal box in the house. She’d surfed the internet and played every stupid game on her smartphone. She’d started three movies on her laptop, but had never lasted more than twenty minutes before bailing.
No way was she calling the girls, though. It wasn’t just the party. None of them had even messaged her to find out how she was doing, settling into her new house. Selfish bitches. They obviously didn’t give a flying fuck how she was doing. Sinead almost sent Elliot a text asking him when he’d be back. But she deleted it before hitting send. She didn’t want him to think she was needy.
And then it occurred to her that as Elliot wasn’t home, maybe there was something she could do to relieve the boredom.
The master bedroom door creaked open. Sinead stood in the doorway, surveying her landlord’s private domain. It looked like a TV advert for bedroom furnishings. The king-size bed was immaculately made-up, the pillows plumped to perfection. The thick olive-green carpet was spotlessly clean and the white linen curtains drawn shut. She crossed the threshold. She stood in the centre of the room and took it in. There really wasn’t much to see: a clock radio and a tissue box on the bedside table, a bottle of cologne and cuff links on top of the dresser. Sinead went over and opened the top drawer: underwear and socks. Nothing fancy, just standard issue Marks & Spencer briefs and black, blue, and brown socks. Sinead shook her head. What was she doing looking at his fucking pants? She pushed the drawer shut.
She tried the second drawer. It was only half-fulclass="underline" four white formal shirts, still in their packaging. A receipt was tucked between two of them. Sinead picked it up and saw that they’d been bought from TM Lewin a couple of weeks ago. Special offer: buy five for the price of three. He’d paid ninety pounds in cash. He must have taken one with him. But wasn’t he away on business for a week? She looked at the date again and wondered if he’d bought the shirts with the money she’d given him. The third drawer was T-shirts and shorts. She couldn’t imagine Elliot wearing those. Beach holidays, maybe. No, he didn’t seem the type. Fair-skinned and freckles – he’d burn on a beach. Maybe he wore them to the gym. She pulled on the fourth drawer, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, but the drawer was definitely locked. She laughed, thinking it was probably where he kept his sex toys. Dirty old bastard!
Sinead walked to the oak wardrobe and opened the doors. She flicked through the clothes hangers. It reminded her of working Saturdays in Topshop during sixth form; her first proper job. It was where she’d learned to be comfortable talking to strangers and had discovered her own knack for selling. The only times it hadn’t been fun was when the school bullies came in, forcing her to hide out back in the stockroom.
In the wardrobe, she found cashmere jumpers, a charcoal-grey suit from Marks & Spencer, three pairs of tailored trousers, beige chinos, a smart chocolate-brown woollen overcoat and a navy-blue waist-length zip-up jacket. At the end of the rail was a small, moth-eaten fisherman’s jumper. She unhooked the hangar, lifted it from the rail and held it up to the light. She examined the old jumper curiously – it appeared so out of place. And it looked a size too small for Elliot. She returned it to the rail end and perused the other items there: a faded old Cambridge University rowing team sweatshirt, baggy corduroy trousers with a slim, thirty-inch waist. Sinead stretched out the trousers.
‘Wow. You’ve gained a few pounds,’ she muttered.
She put them back on the rail, and then noticed the shelving unit inside the lower section of the wardrobe. She picked up a brown leather Italian brogue and turned it over. It was a UK size 9. With her other hand, she grabbed a battered old hiking boot: size 11.
‘Or ex-boyfriend maybe? Yeah…’
That would make sense. She wondered if they’d broken up recently. Or if there was a chance they’d get back together – that could explain why Elliot still had some of his clothes. It could be why he’d been in two minds about renting out the spare room, half expecting his partner to come back. Enjoying her sleuthing, Sinead clumped the two shoes together like she was clapping.
The front doorbell chimed.
Sinead turned her head towards the sound. Finally someone to talk to! She shoved the shoes back inside the wardrobe, closed the bedroom door, and rushed out to the front porch.
Sinead opened the front door and instinctively smiled. Standing outside the porch was a woman in her early forties. She had frizzy hair, bags under her eyes, no make-up and wore a fleece jacket covered in some kind of animal fur. She looked frazzled, and had the jittery manner of someone who’d drunk too much caffeine. But her smile was warm and genuine. Sinead opened the porch door.
‘Ah. He’s moved, has he? This used to be Elliot Sheeny’s house.’
‘No, he still lives here. He’s not in at the moment. But yeah, it’s still Elliot’s house.’
‘Oh good, I’m in luck then. Thought I’d left it too long.’ The woman offered Sinead her hand. ‘Where are my manners? Gwen Francombe, an old friend of Elliot’s.’
Sinead shook Gwen’s hand. ‘Hi. Sinead. I’m his new lodger.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Sinead. You know, he sometimes talked about taking in a lodger, but I never thought he’d get around to it. He always seemed too reluctant. Sorry. I’m not making any sense, am I? We were book-group buddies. Myself and Elliot and a few others.’
‘Oh, nice.’
‘It’s been a while since we saw each other… but he didn’t reply to my last email and his phone just goes to voicemail. I was wondering, has he changed his phone number maybe?’
Sinead recalled Elliot’s instruction not to share his new number. ‘I… I really don’t know. Sorry.’
‘There you go – he doesn’t want to speak to me after all. I don’t blame him. We had this silly squabble last time. I won’t bore you with the details. Anyhow, I thought I’d pop round on the off-chance because…’ Gwen rummaged in her bulging handbag. ‘I was having a sort-out, getting rid of some odds and ends and I found… where is it…?’
Gwen looked up from her bag and pulled a face indicating she knew this was annoying. Sinead smiled, because she was relieved to have some human interaction and didn’t mind waiting. Finally, Gwen retrieved a paperback book.
‘Elliot lent me this one, ages ago. I never found the time to read it – just too busy these days, I’m afraid.’ She passed the book to Sinead. ‘I can’t stand it myself when people borrow things and don’t return them, so–’
‘He’s got loads of books. He probably hadn’t even noticed.’ Sinead checked out the cover: Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr Ripley. The title sounded familiar but, as with most books, she hadn’t read it.
Gwen looked over her shoulder. An estate car was parked across the end of the driveway. Two small boys, aged about eight, were wrestling on the back seat.
‘Look at those two; I can’t leave them alone for five minutes. They’re like a pair of blinking hyenas…’ Gwen tried to get their attention, but the boys didn’t see her waving. Sinead laughed as she watched Gwen’s sons playing and having fun. She’d always wanted a sister, but a brother would have been all right too.