217 Babel Street | Lobby
...Ouch!...
Shut up. You said you wanted...
I do but... too much... no not there. Just...
... keep still when I’m ...
Yes that’s... Agh. Please...no...
Serves you right, you...
A swish and a crack. Heston winced. He hated violence but what could he do? The voices – one male and one female – were strange, excited. They murmured and there was a shuffling sound. One of them began to moan.
... mmmm.
... a code word?
...what for? what... you...?
no... when I say... (giggle)... so you know when to...
I don’t... stupid... come here...
... no, please!... not the... I’m not ready for...
Shhhh... here... now.
Oh.
Heston put his hands over his ears but heard the cries. They seemed to last for ever. Eventually, there were footsteps and he realised they were coming upstairs. He pulled the cupboard door shut. They stopped, just centimetres away from him. Then Heston heard the thing he hated most in the whole world: the nasty squelch of two people kissing. He felt sick.
He stayed in the cupboard until all was quiet outside. When he pushed the door and peered out, the bike had gone. Down Heston’s neck were two packets of J-cloths and a couple of scourers. Up his jumper, one under each armpit, were bottles of bleach. The caretaker was closing the door to her flat. Had she made those strange noises? Surely not. But then, some people are just weird, thought Heston. He stuffed a pair of rubber gloves down the front of his trousers, scuttled and limped across the lobby.