Page 161 of Not That Ridiculous

I patted his muscled calf. “Yes, you have, and the bathroom is glorious. I love it.”

The downstairs bathroom no longer held the top spot in my affections. Kevin had ripped out all the harvest-gold tiles and the pokey little shower unit in the upstairs bathroom, fixed the floor, and installed a large tub. The tiles were now a warm honey, the paintwork was a soft primrose, and as it turned out, I was a slut for baths.

Particularly if naked, wet Kevin was in there with me, which he often was.

“There could be anything up here,” he said, working the little hook that kept it latched free. It swung clear with a tiny creak.

“Junk, as far as the eye can see,” I agreed. “Like the garage.”

It had taken a whole weekend for Kevin and his friend Griffin to get rid of the rubbish that Deirdre’s heirs had left behind. Or more precisely that the dodgy house clearance company they’d hired had left behind, since the heirs were abroad and couldn’t be arsed to travel to Chipping Fairford and take care of business themselves.

“For the price I paid for this house,” I said, “I genuinely don’t give a shit what’s up there. I’ll deal with it.”

“Okay.” Kevin opened the hatch, and yelped with surprise when something slithered down and hung in front of his face.

“What!” I yelled. “What is it?”

“Chill,” Kevin said, hopping to the floor. “It’s fine, I was just startled. Look at this.” He was holding a thick black cord with a fat tassel in his hand. He tugged it gently. The hatch opened all the way, and wooden steps swung smoothly down until the ladder obstructed them. “Must be on a counterbalance.”

We stood side by side and looked at the steps. They put Kevin’s top-of-the-line metal telescopic ladder to shame. Beautiful carpentry.

Kevin moved his ladder, propping it up against the wall, and the steps glided down to touch the carpet. “You want to go first?”

“No, no. After you. You’re the one who wants to go poking around.”

“All right. Let’s get poking.” He tested the steps briefly before going up. At the top, he said, “Torch, please,” opening and closing his hand. I switched on his enormous Maglite and passed it up.

“Argh,” he said when I got him in the eyes with the beam. “Thanks a bunch.” Blinking rapidly, he went on up.

I followed close on his heels.

The loft ran the full length of the house. He aimed the beam at the shadowed roof above us. “Could do a conversion up here, Charlie,” he said, brimming with excitement. “Add a whole new floor.”

Oh boy. “Maybe after the kitch?—”

Kevin yelped again.

“What!” I yelled, clutching at him. “What now? Is it a rat?”

The beam, which had been swinging around wildly, stilled and held on a cluster of shapes lined up along the back wall.

Human shapes.

“Give me that.” I took the torch off him. My shoulders loosened. “They’re mannequins, Kevin. Dressmaker’s dummies.”

“Oh my god.” Kevin slipped an arm around my waist from behind and leaned heavily on me. I staggered and braced my feet to hold him up. “Thought it was more dolls,” he muttered.

“It’s just mannequins,” I said again, rather than what I wanted to say, which was, Holyfuck, me too. I thought that, too.

I patted Kevin’s arm.

“Can I have the torch back?” he said. “I’m gonna look for the light switch.”

“How do you know there is one? There might not be electricity up here. It’s an early Victorian, after all.”

“There’s electricity. I’ve been in your fuse box, remember? I saw the circuits.”

I passed him the torch. “Here you go.”

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