Petit Morts 12 - London Eye by Clare London

Author:Clare London [London, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 5

The night sky had bled into deep indigo by the time Des got

them to his front door. Maybe it was something to do with the

erratic street lighting in Battersea since the council budget

cuts. He turned to look back at Oliver. Maybe it was

something else.

Oliver came up the front steps behind him, looking up at the

building. "Great place."

"It's not all mine," Des rushed to say. Defensive or what? "I

mean, I only have the top floor."

"Up in the eaves?" Oliver was gazing up at the dark, four-

storey house, hugging its neighbouring houses close on either

side like a rugby scrum, its brickwork crumbling in places and

several of its windows warped shut over the years. "That's

charming."

Des paused for a second, checking if that was a genuine

comment rather than sarcasm, but Oliver's tone was as relaxed

as before. Des shrugged, pleased. He agreed, of course. He'd

always liked living in the top of the building: the challenge of

finding cupboards to fit the limited space, listening in his

evenings off to the sound of pigeons pattering across the roof,

waking up each morning face-to-face with the quaint, sloped

ceiling. And on a clear day, he could lean out of his window

and see right across to Battersea Park.

"My place is in a modern block," Oliver said.

"You remember that?"

Oliver nodded. "Just not where it is. I think it was purchased

for me." There was no fondness in his tone. "Low

maintenance. Short distance from the local shopping centre.

Near public transport to central London." It sounded like an

estate agent's blurb.

They climbed the stairs in silence. Oliver slowed a couple of

times to catch his breath. Des smirked to himself about the

relative merits of corporate gym memberships and climbing

44

four flights at least twice a day. It wasn't until he reached the

door to his flat that he stopped to worry about whether it was

tidy enough inside. Tidy enough for what?

They tramped into his living room. Des snatched up the food

magazines he'd left strewn over the sofa and shuffled them

into a pile under the TV unit. Thank God he hadn't left any

dirty laundry out. He left Oliver standing by the sofa and went

scrabbling in the wardrobe to find spare pillows, a blanket and

a sleeping bag. He brought it all back into the living room,

then took up position beside the second-hand armchair, his

only other piece of comfortable furniture. He ran his hand

along its back, seeking some kind of familiar grounding.

"I hope it'll be okay, it pulls out to a small size bed.

Bathroom's down the hall, kitchen through there. Help

yourself to water or coffee if you need it." He was babbling,

like he did when he was nervous. Should he turn on some

music? Stay for a while in case Oliver needed company?

"I'm fine. The chocolates seem to have settled me." Oliver

gestured towards the sofa. "May I sit?"

Fuck. What kind of a useless host was he? "Of course, yeah."

Oliver put the half-folded sleeping bag to one side and sat

down. Des thought he looked calm but weary. It was already

the small hours of the morning, plus Oliver had been through

all that shit with his ex, and then the weird thing with his card.

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