Chapter 125: Wednesday III

She went back in through the door and the heat and the noise took her, and 3 seconds later Danny watched her hand come up on the grinder as if she had never been outside at all.

He stood by the scooter and got the phone out to ring Priya with the rate, and there was already an email on it.

PRIYA ANAND SOLICITORS. FAO Ms N. Adeyemi. Copy: D. Flynn.

He read it stood by the scooter with the helmet still on his arm.

It was 6 lines. It confirmed a commercial leasehold completion in October. It confirmed that her firm had acted for him and that source of funds had been evidenced and satisfied to the firm’s requirements.

And then it said this.

For the avoidance of doubt, this firm has not at any time filed, submitted or confirmed any residential address information for our client with you, with your managing agent, or with any third party. We do not hold a residential address for our client on our file.

Danny stood on the Grange Road with his thumb on the screen.

She’s sent it.

You sat in that chair on Monday and told her to be helpful.

And that line’s a solicitor getting a wrong thing off her own file before it sticks to her.

And the wrong thing’s yours. Friday morning, 9 minutes past 9, stood in front of Naomi Adeyemi saying I’d asked my solicitor to chase it Wednesday.

He scrolled up and looked at the time it had gone.

09:41.

20 minutes ago.

He rang Naomi and it picked up on the second ring with a lift chime in it.

"Mr Flynn."

"Have you read your email?"

"I’ve read 40 of them and none of them since half 8." The chime again, and her voice went echoey. "I’m on 22 with a leak. Is it urgent?"

Yes.

"No," Danny said.

"Then I’ll ring you back."

He was back at the shop by 11 and there were 9 boards up and the room had a lid on it, and he put the phone face up on the windowsill where he could see it and it did nothing for 5 hours.

At 25 past 12, sat on the wall outside with a tea going cold and boards going up behind him, the phone did the other thing.

[ A shift is available, host. ] [ Saturday. 06:00 to 10:00. ] [ Grade 4. ]

where

[ The location is issued at 05:30 on the day. ]

what is it

Nine seconds.

[ That is not a question the Concierge is able to answer. ]

is it in london

[ Yes. ]

He sat with his thumb over it for a while.

Saturday at 6. And Jodie’s got Northcote Road in 3 weeks and Keisha starts in 4 and I’ve got a man coming to certify a ceiling on Friday.

And I’ve just promised 2 people a year of wages out of the last one.

He did not confirm it and he did not decline it, and he put the phone in his coat with the envelope, and went back in and held a board over his head for 20 minutes while Deniz’s lad screwed it off, and his arms hurt all afternoon.

Naomi rang at 16 minutes past 4.

He was on the hop-up with both hands over his head and the last board but 2 on his palms, and the lad said "go on, take it" and took the weight off him, and Danny came down off it with his arms shaking and got outside onto the pavement before he answered.

"Naomi."

"I’ve read it."

There was no lift behind her and no leak and no radio. She was somewhere with a door shut.

"Right."

"I’m going to say 3 things and I’m not going to ask you anything, because I told you on Sunday I wouldn’t and I meant it." Her voice was completely level.

"First one. You told me on Friday morning, stood in my office, that you’d asked your solicitor to chase that address on the Wednesday. Ms Anand has written to me today to say that her firm has not at any time filed any address information for you with anybody, and that she does not hold a residential address for you on her file."

Danny stood on the Verney Road with plaster in his eyebrows.

"I’m not asking you which of those is true," Naomi said.

"Naomi..."

"Second thing. I signed a declaration on Friday at 10 in the morning that I had verified a resident’s address history to the standard in the policy." A chair moved.

"I signed it because the address was on the system when I looked and because you’d just told me where it had come from. One of those turns out not to be so, which means when I put my name on that form I did not have what I thought I had."

"What happens?"

"Third thing." She went straight over him. "I’m going to write to the insurer on Monday morning and correct my own declaration."

The boards went thock behind him.

"You don’t have to do that."

"I do, and I’d like you to understand it isn’t about you." Something went down on a desk on her end. "If that building ever has a fire and a loss adjuster pulls that policy, the first thing he does is check the declarations. And if mine’s wrong and I knew it was wrong since November, that’s not a mistake any more. I’ve got 11 years and a mortgage and I’m not carrying it for anybody."

"What does correcting it do to me?"

"It reopens the address. They’ll run it again and they’ll run it properly, and this time there’ll be a note on the file saying the last one was withdrawn."

Danny had his free hand flat on the cold glass of his own window.

Say something. Anything. Give her a thing she can use.

"Then I’ll go," he said.

"Sorry?"

"I’ll give the flat up. Surrender it. I’ll be out by the weekend and there’s no resident on 40 and there’s nothing to verify, and your form’s about a man who isn’t there."

There was a silence down the phone that went on long enough that he heard the lad drop a screw.

"Mr Flynn," Naomi said, "do not do that."

"Why not?"

"Because a man who moves out 4 days after an identity check comes back empty is the single worst-looking thing I could put in front of an insurer, and you have just offered it to me like it was a favour." Her voice had not gone up. "And because I’d have to write that down as well."

He stood there.

"Right."

"I’m going to get my coat and go home, and on Monday I’ll write what I have to write, and between now and then I am going to do you the only courtesy I’ve got left, which is that I am not going to think about it." The chair went back. "Good night, Mr Flynn."

Click.

Danny stood outside his own shop on a Wednesday afternoon with his arms still going from the board and a woman 4 miles north getting her coat.

She’s not doing anything to you.

She’s doing the right thing, on a Monday, in writing, with her name on it. That’s all it is.

And it’s worse than anything Mara’s done and worse than anything the machine’s done, and you can’t be cross with her about one bit of it.

The last board went up at 4:40 and Deniz got the tape and the pencil out and wrote 6 DROPS + EXTRACT on the wall in the corner where the plaster would not go, and drew an arrow at it.

"That stays till Friday," he said. "Then your man can rub it off himself."

Danny got to Battersea at 6 with a bag of oranges, and he had the scooter locked and his boots off in her hall before he had said a word.

"You’re on time," Jodie said.

"Don’t make a thing of it."

"I’m not making a thing of it. You’ve got a face on, though."

"I’ve had a day."

"You’ve always had a day." She took the bag off him and looked in it. "Oranges."

"You said."

"I said that in July."

"You said you never buy them for yourself."

"I don’t." She went back down the hall with them. "Tea’s in the pot. And don’t go in the front room in your socks, I’ve got pins down."

The rail was gone. In its place, laid out flat over the back of the settee and both arms of it and half the floor, was dark green fabric in about 9 pieces, and a paper pattern held down with 2 mugs and a stapler.