Читать книгу Danny Yates Must Die - Stephen Walker - Страница 17

Danny arrived, first thing that morning, stopping only to collect his jaw from the pavement.

Teena Rama’s own personal White House ran some three hundred feet from one end of Moldern Crescent to the other, half enclosing the houses across the road, as though trying to eat them. From somewhere behind the building, a white pole prodded the sky, its polka dot flag declaring the owner to be in residence.

He checked the address she’d given him and, having reassured himself for the fiftieth time that this must be the place, climbed the step that connected it to the street.

Staring at the oak panelled front door, he again checked the address. It was still the right place. About to knock, he noticed a tiny sign beside the handle; please press me. An arrow pointed to a green plastic panel by the door. He did as instructed. The panel lit up.

‘Hello?’ asked a voice that seemed to be Bob Holness.

Danny looked around, trying to locate its source.

Above the door, a camera’s red light activated. He addressed it. ‘Er, good morning. I believe I’m expected.’

‘Expected?’

‘By Teena Rama. I’m her new lodger.’

‘Ah. You’ll be young Mr Gary.’

‘No. I’m Danny.’

‘What happened to Mr Gary?’

‘He won’t be coming.’ He lacked the inclination to go into all that again.

‘Has he had an accident?’ asked the voice.

‘No.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘No.’

‘Have you murdered him and taken his place, in a daring assassination bid on Miss Rama?’

‘No,’ protested Danny. ‘He just won’t be coming.’

The voice fell silent, as though checking something, then said, ‘Miss Rama will be disappointed. She was rather looking forward to receiving young Mr Gary, much as one welcomes the arrival of small but unfocused animals. However, I’m sure she’ll accept you in lieu. Miss Rama can be tolerant.’

Clunk, the door unlocked.

‘Feel free to enter, Mr Daniel.’

‘Thank you.’

He was about to push the door open, when the voice warned, ‘But please don’t touch the door frame; you’ll be disintegrated.’

Once in the hallway, Danny closed the front door behind him. Stepping over a junk mail mountain, he took care not to touch the frame. But perhaps the man had been having him on.

His finger reached toward it, curious, then stopped.

Upon starting work once, he’d resolutely refused to cross town for a left-handed screwdriver and had promptly been sacked from Wheatley Long Stand, Glass Hammer and Left-Handed Screwdrivers PLC. It was a mistake anyone could have made, but hadn’t.

Then there’d been his fourth day at Lucy’s, when she’d said Osmosis had given her Danny’s room and he’d have to sleep out on the landing because he was the new kid and sleeping out on the landing was what new kids always had to do. And he wasn’t to use her old room, it was needed for frog storage.

For a month he’d slept on that landing, until Osmosis had pointed out the lack of ribbiting.

Perhaps everyone played a joke on the new kid and this was Teena’s.

But he withdrew his finger anyway.

He looked around.

The hallway stretched to the distant back door, silent but for the ticking cuckoo clock to his left. A wooden bird burst from its slot, said, ‘Cuckoo,’ then went into hiding for another hour. Tiny doors flipped shut behind it.

Danny went across.

Stretching on tiptoes, he removed clock from wall, turned its hands forward fifty-nine minutes, then took it to the door. He pointed clock at frame then, confident it would be unharmed, waited.

Tick tick tick tick …

The bird burst from its hidey hole, gave one proud, ‘Cuck –’ and disintegrated.

Clunk, Danny threw the twisted thing-that-was-once-a-clock out onto the street, hoping someone would steal it. They would have done back at his old home.

He slammed the door shut, having not seen any shady characters in the moment it was open. Like the police, shady characters were rarely around when you needed them.