Page 17 of Take My Breath Away
“That’s wet wipes,” Acne Man says, his face contorting into a scowl. “I put a sign up: No Wet Wipes.” He glares at me and Perry as though we’re responsible for the lavatorial crisis. He makes his way downstairs and we follow.
“I do like the look of your new housemates. Charming and civilised, I think you’ll be very at home here.”
Perry looks at me over his shoulder. “It’s not ideal, but it’s cheap,” he whispers.
His shoulders sag, and I bite back. He needs to do this, needs to demonstrate to himself that he’s not reliant on anybody. I grind my teeth. There’s no way on earth I’m going to let him come to a place like this, but he has to see that for himself.
“This is yours.” Acne Man nods to a locker bolted to the wall. It’s got scorch marks on it, and a broken hasp for a padlock. “And you get a shelf in the fridge.” He opens one of two fridges that were all the rage, in 1972, and a stench that makes the stink from the toilet smell like angels’ breath wafts out.
Perry covers his mouth with his hand, and I swear he’s gone green.
“I think something might have gone off—”
“Gone off?” I say, coughing hard. “Something’s more than gone off, something’s died in that thing.”
Acne Man has the grace to look embarrassed, but he doesn’t offer an explanation.
“Anything else you want to see?”
“Oh, I think we’ve seen everything we need to — don’t you agree, Perry?”
Perry nods. He looks like he’s ready to throw up.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, switching his attention from me to Acne Man, who’s now scratching at the back of his ear, like a mangy dog. He looks at his nails, and digs something out from under them.
“Don’t think about it too long, there’s demand for rooms around here. This area’s on the up.”
“On the up from where? The sewer?”
“James,” Perry hisses at me, but I don’t care.
I’ve had enough of looking at shitty rooms in even shittier houses inhabited by the sorts of people you cross the road to avoid.
“Thank you for showing us around. I, erm… It’s not quite what I’m looking for—”
“Yes, we really are sorry, but blocked toilets, box rooms which look like the walls have been painted in blood, and dead rats in the fridge really aren’t on my friend’s list of desirables in a new home.”
I smile at Acne Man but it just seems to confuse him.
“So you don’t want the room? You’d be lucky to get anything for the price around here.”
“The only thing you’ll get here is a case of diphtheria, cholera and possibly the Black Death.”
Perry groans, and gives me his pained look again.
“Thank you but no, it’s not really for me.”
“It really isn’t for anybody who doesn’t want to get a nasty rash on their—”
“Goodbye and thank you,” Perry blurts as he shoves me towards the kitchen door.
A moment later we’re out, on the cracked and broken path.
“God, that smell…” He’s gone a deeper shade of green, I’m sure of it.
“There isn’t anywhere else to see, is there?” I ask, as we head along the litter-strewn street. With graffiti-covered, closed-up shops, the place is like a war zone.
“No, that’s it. I didn’t realise they’d be so—
