Читать книгу Watching You, Watching Me - Chloe Rayban - Страница 13

I didn’t sleep too well and I was the first up next day. I decided to walk down to the newsagent and get the Sunday paper — do Dad a favour — or maybe it was just an excuse to get a closer look at what the damage opposite had been.

The whole of the front garden of number twenty-five was trampled flat, and looked as if a herd of wild elephants had dropped by. The wreckage extended into the garden next door. The ground was littered with rubbish: cans and glass from broken bottles, a shoe, a load of flyers, a sweatshirt, and the crushed packaging and scraps from a take-away meal. Then I looked back at our side of the street. The Levingtons’ house had recently been decorated, stark black and white, same as it had been before — really imaginative. I’d heard Mr Levington grumbling across the wall to Dad about how much it had cost. And there — right along the length of their pristine white front wall — someone had spray-painted the word ‘Fascist’, followed by a swastika.

I bit my lip. I’d never liked Mr Levington, he was a miserable old fogey — he was going to go mental when he saw this. I continued on my way to the shops deep in thought. The whole street would be up in arms when they took stock of the mess.

I bought a Sunday Independent for Mum and Dad and had a half-hearted browse through the mags. I needed something to cheer myself up.

Mr Patel leaned over the counter. ‘I hear you had some trouble in your street last night.’

‘It was nothing much. Someone had a party that’s all.’

‘But the police came.’

‘And then everyone left.’

‘But they painted signs. I don’t like the look of it.’

The news had got around. Even Mr Patel had heard about it. The way things were going the whole district was going to gang up on Matt. As I walked back I realised dismally — he was bound to get evicted. He’d probably move to some other squat, miles away — then I’d never get to know him.

A few doors down from the Levingtons, I noticed the house-martins were making a dreadful din. It wasn’t their usual bright chirping and whistling. They were giving out harsh cries of alarm and making dives at the Levingtons’ house. As I drew level, I saw why. Mr Levington was leaning out of the second floor window with a long broom in his hand, trying to reach up to their nest. Luckily, the ledge over that window prevented him from seeing what he was doing, so he kept missing his aim.

‘Don’t! Please don’t!’ I yelled. You mustn’t … They’ve got got baby birds in there.’

Mr Levington paused and looked down at me. His face was red from the effort and he glared.

‘They’re filthy creatures. Messing all over my newly painted window-sills.’

He stretched up again and took another swipe at the nest. He was getting nearer the mark now.

‘Stop it!’ I screamed again. ‘I’ll report you. That’s cruel! You can’t.’

The birds were getting more and more agitated. It was agonising to hear their cries of distress. I was practically crying myself.

With each swipe Mr Levington’s broom inched closer to the mark.

‘You’re an evil wicked man …’ I shouted, my voice going shrill with emotion.

And then suddenly another voice joined mine, a male voice.

‘Stop it, you bastard. Can’t you see what you’re doing?’

Mr Levington looked down and nearly lost his balance.

‘You!’ he roared. ‘I’m amazed you dare show your face in this street. Don’t move from there. I’m coming down.’

He was standing beside me dressed in an old T-shirt and jogging shorts. His feet were bare. He looked as if he’d just climbed out of bed.

‘Thanks …’ I said, my voice all husky. I jerked back the tears. The last thing I wanted to do was to start blubbing like some baby.

‘Good thing you caught him.’

His hair was all scruffed up the wrong way where he’d been sleeping on it. He didn’t look like a drop-out or a junkie, or the kind of person who got into fights. How could everyone be so horrid about him?

‘Have you seen what’s happened to his wall?’ I asked.

He half-grinned. ‘Pretty accurate description if you ask me.’

That’s when Mr Levington’s front door flew open and he strode down the front path waving his broom threateningly at Matt.

‘As for you … you vagrant! Bringing scum into this street. You get packing — out of there this very day …’

‘Look … About last night, I’m sorry it wasn’t … I mean, I didn’t …’

‘Sorry! Sorry! Is that all you can say? I’ll give you sorry …’

‘I didn’t even know those people …’

‘Filth, that’s what they were …’ He took a threatening step forward and stabbed with his broom at some greasy pizza boxes that were littering the pavement.

‘I’m going to get you out of there if it’s the last thing I …’ He moved another threatening step forward.

‘Look, I’m going to clear up a bit — OK?’ Matt leaned down and snatched up a handful of litter.

‘Clear up! You know what you can do — you can clear out …’

‘Like them?’ said Matt gesturing towards the martins’ nest. ‘Clean the place up … Is that what you’re going to do? Want to stick your broom through my house? Nice attitude I must say … Do you know how few house-martins there are left?’

I chimed in, ‘He’s right you know. It’s because of pesticides and drought … Soon there won’t be any at all …’

Mr Levington scowled. ‘I want you out of there by the end of the day … Do you hear?’

‘You know what you are, don’t you?’

‘Huh,’ said Mr Levington, turning back towards the house.

That was the point at which he caught sight of the graffiti on his front wall.

He rocked on his feet for a moment while the vision before him sank in. Then his face seemed to grow even redder if that was possible. He looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. ‘Fascist!’ he gasped.

‘You said it, not me,’ said Matt and he turned on his heel and started to walk back across the road.

Then he paused and turned back. ‘Come on,’ he said to me. ‘I think we’ve made our point.’

‘We.’ It was the way he said ‘we’ like that. It made my heart turn over with a thump.

It wasn’t how I’d planned to meet up. Ideally, I’d have liked to have decent clothes on and some make-up maybe. I knew I was looking an absolute mess but that didn’t seem to matter right now.

I followed him into the back garden of number twenty-five. He paused outside the back door.

‘I’d ask you in, but the place is not exactly fit for entertaining at present,’ he said.

He didn’t seem arrogant at all. In fact, the way he was looking at me, with the sun catching in his eyes like that (those gorgeous eyes, flecked with hazel — the eyes that had met mine that cringe-making morning in Sainsbury’s) — he seemed almost shy. I glanced through the open door. Poor guy. The place was totally trashed. It stank of sour spilled beer and cigarette smoke. It would take him forever to clean up.

‘You had quite a party last night,’ I said.

‘Yeah well, you should’ve come over.’

‘You should’ve asked me.’

‘I would have,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t think it would be quite your scene.’

There it was. He’d practically spelt it out. He thought I was just a kid and nowhere near old or cool enough to party with his friends. It wasn’t surprising — he’d only seen me in school uniform. Or going to see a kids’ film — it was so unfair. But I’d show him. Just give me time.

‘Look, I’d better be going,’ I said.

But he didn’t seem to want me to go. He was being really friendly for some reason.

‘Don’t go for a minute. You live at number twenty-two don’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Name’s Matt,’ he said, holding out a hand.

We stood in that totally trashed garden and shook hands really formally. Like some funny old-fashioned couple. I liked the feel of his hand, liked it too much. I mean, he had a girlfriend for God’s sake — I’d seen them getting off together.

I mumbled my name and then there was a ghastly pause. I stood there feeling awkward.

‘Who is it who that plays a … clarinet, is it?’

‘Oboe.’ I felt myself flush scarlet. He must have heard me practising. This was just so galling. Now he thought I was a nerd as well.

At that moment I heard Dad’s voice calling me. ‘Natasha!’

‘I’ve got to get back, for breakfast …’ I said.

‘Don’t go yet.’

‘Look, I’ve got to.’

‘Think the old bastard will leave those birds alone now?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Tasha? Did you hear me?’ Dad was standing at the side gate of number twenty-five — frowning.

‘Looks like you really had better go,’ said Matt.

‘Yeah, OK. Bye.’

I made my way back across the road as fast as I could.

I stormed through the front door with Dad hot on my heels.

‘I just can’t believe you did that …’

Dad looked unrepentant. ‘Did what?’

‘Humiliated me, in front of that guy.’

‘I beg your pardon. I did nothing to humiliate you.’

‘Treating me like a child like that.’

‘I merely pointed out it was breakfast time.’

‘You know very well what I mean.’

Mum and Dad ganged up on me after that. They made a real scene over breakfast.

‘I just don’t believe it,’ Mum was saying. ‘After last night. God knows what those people were on …’

‘And there you were standing talking to the bloke — after I expressly asked you to keep away,’ added Dad.

‘Keep away. What do you think he is — an axe-murderer? You’re mad. If you actually bothered to speak to him you’d find out — he’s really nice …’

‘He doesn’t have very nice friends,’ Mum pointed out.

‘How can you tell?’

‘Certain things I found in the flower bed, when I emptied the rubbish this morning.’

‘I reckon those people were gatecrashers. Let’s face it — they didn’t do any real damage …’

‘What about Mr Levington’s wall?’

‘Mr Levington deserved it. He is a fascist — do you know what he was doing this morning?’

‘Apparently that boy was being really abusive to him.’

‘He rang us up in a real state,’ said Mum.

‘I’ll tell you what he was doing — trying to knock down the house-martins’ nest. And there are baby birds in it.’

‘That’s awful. Dad, you’ve got to do something,’ said Gemma

‘He wasn’t, was he?’ asked Dad.

‘Yes he was. That’s how I got talking to Matt — that’s his name. He was trying to stop Mr Levington too.’

Mum and Dad exchanged glances.

‘So that’s what old Levington was going on about,’ said Mum.

‘I’ll go and have a word with him,’ said Dad.

When Dad came back we were all waiting expectantly.

‘Well, I put the fear of God into Levington. Said they were protected and I’d report him to the RSPB.’

‘Are they?’ asked Mum.

‘Don’t know. But if they’re not they should be. Think it did the trick though. Don’t think he’ll be touching that nest again. But he’s been on to the police about our squatter. Seems to think after last night, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem to get him evicted.’

Gemma’s gaze met mine. I sent her a silencing frown.