Slough House полностью

He couldn’t help slipping into salesman mode as he stepped aside to let them enter. ‘Nice and spacious, as you can see. Plenty of … potential.’

There was only the one light, a battery-powered lantern, but it illuminated the amenities: the armchair, and the wooden crate seeing use as both table and kitchen. The camping stove sat on top of it, along with the pan in which he’d fried his sausages; probably still hot, but here was the beauty of his current lifestyle: who cared about scorch marks?

‘Bit of a campsite, to be honest. Not actually ready for moving in, but I wanted to … test the ambience.’

Jim was looking round with interest.

Jane said, ‘What design did you have in mind? For the finished model, I mean?’

‘Well,’ said Loy. ‘Three rooms, really. A living–sleeping space, that would be most of it. And a shower, obviously, with the necessaries. And a separate kitchen.’

‘With a good big window across the living space wall,’ Jane said. ‘I like it. What are you using at the moment? For the – ah – necessaries?’

‘Just going round back,’ said Loy.

Jim was making admiring-type noises and, more importantly, unscrewing the top of the vodka bottle. It made that appealing snap as the seal broke. ‘You have glasses? Or plastics, even. We’re all friends here.’

Loy had two polystyrene beakers and a chipped mug.

‘Perfect.’

Jim poured each of them a generous measure of vodka, and they toasted Struan Loy’s enterprise.

Jane kept up the chatter while Jim refreshed their drinks. They’d heard about the scheme while exploring investment opportunities, and their ears had pricked up. Well, housing. It was important to put something back, didn’t Struan think? Struan thought. Anyway, she could see why he’d had trouble with uptake, because people were so unimaginative these days, but anyone with an ounce of vigour – hell, she wasn’t afraid of the word: anyone with spunk – could see that what Struan had come up with, his genius brainwave, was exactly what society had been waiting for. Man with a welding torch and the right attitude could have this space sorted in no time. And Struan was so right not to overcomplicate. Three rooms: bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. Or even – and she didn’t want to tread on toes here – but even, you could make it just the two. Plenty of properties, studio flats, incorporated kitchen into living space, yes? Cut down on conversion expenses. But anyway, here was the other thing, they were stackable, shipping containers. Famous for it. What you had here, basically, was a whole apartment block waiting to be assembled. Little bit of clever with the outside staircases, and you were away. Had he thought about furnished or unfurnished? She bet the former. She could see he had an eye. Have some more vodka.

He had some more vodka.

It felt good going down. And Jane’s pep talk hit the spot too, reminding Struan what it was he’d seen in Johannesburg. Not just an opportunity, but a journey; somewhere he could point himself, and keep moving. Away from the bad luck that had dogged him so long. The only trouble, far as he could see – the only wasp in the sun cream – was that things like this didn’t happen. Not to Struan Loy.

Because when things were turning to shit, they kept turning to shit faster. Second law of motion. Emphasis on motion. His recent trajectory had taken a shitward direction, and no way was that going to terminate in a couple of strangers turning up with a wellyful of dosh. No, something was going on. And if they thought Struan hadn’t copped on to that yet, they should have stuck to being the missionaries they resembled.

‘So who was it pointed you in my direction?’

He slurred on direction, he thought, but then decided he hadn’t, or at least, that you were supposed to slur on it, it had an ecksh sound. But probably the whole mental debate was itself an indication that he’d been drinking neat vodka.

Jane and Jim exchanged a look. ‘His name was Peter?’

‘… Pete Fairfax?’ said Loy.

‘Fairfax, yeah. I think that was it.’

It was good to have these questions answered, especially when the answer was: these people are full of crap. Loy didn’t know a Peter Fairfax.

Might be good to have them not in his living space any more.

‘So yeah, well, anyway,’ he said. ‘Good. Good. Definitely a lot to think about.’

‘Definitely,’ Jim agreed.

‘So much,’ Jane offered.

‘But right now, and thanks for the drink and everything, but right now I’d really better get some shut-eye.’ He mimed sleeping, very briefly, unsure why he was doing so. Everyone knew what sleeping looked like. ‘Gotta be fresh in the morning.’

‘Really? Why so?’

This was Jane again.

‘Oh, you know.’ A vague gesture. ‘Things to do.’

Jim was unscrewing the top on the second vodka bottle. There didn’t seem to be a snap this time, as if the seal had already been broken.

‘No, really. I think I’ve had enough,’ Loy said.

‘Yeah, probably,’ Jim agreed. He looked at Jane. ‘We about done?’