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Tightening my hold on the two enormous rubbish bags, I went for it, running head down through the rain towards the bin store. My vision was blurred by the deluge, making it hard to read the faded numbers daubed in paint on the sides of the bins. But I finally spotted the one allocated to the residents of the second floor and flung open the lid. I gave a small grunt of irritation when I saw it was already almost full.
It couldn’t have taken more than a minute or two, but by the time I’d pushed down the contents of the bin to make room for Mrs Barnard’s bags, my top was plastered against my back like a second skin. Arm-deep in other people’s rubbish felt like an appropriately awful way to end my visit to Finn’s flat.
My shoes made weird squelching sounds as I ran back to my car, but instead of leaping straight into the driver’s seat, I hesitated. Despite the downpour, I turned back to look at the wheelie bins, feeling oddly troubled. Something there wasn’t quite right, but I had no idea what it could be.
I shook my head, spraying water in every direction, but the elusive concern was as hard to catch hold of as the raindrops around me. It would come to me, I decided. If it was important, it would come.
MONDAY: DAY TWO
9
There was soap in my eye, or maybe shampoo. I’d been in the shower long enough to turn my fingertips into prunes and had probably used up at least half the hot water in the tank. I lifted my face to the jets cascading from the shower head and was transported back to standing in the rain outside Finn’s flat the previous day. And just like that, with no logical train of thought, the niggling concern that had eluded me yesterday presented itself. Like a gift.
The bins.
The ones for the second-floor flats.
They had been full. But Mrs Barnard’s refuse had yet to be taken down. So the bulging black plastic sacks filling the wheelie bin had to be Finn’s.
I half stumbled, half fell out of the shower cubicle, uncaring that there were still soap suds in my hair. Today was the day the bins were emptied. If therewereany clues to be found in the rubbish bags, they would shortly be disposed of or incinerated, or become part of a landfill somewhere. Unless I got to them first.
Pulling on jeans over damp legs wasn’t something I’d ever tried before or would particularly recommend, because it was surprisingly tricky. The T-shirt I yanked on was inside out, which I only realised when I flew past the mirror in the hallway on my way to the front door. I didn’t stop to change it; I just swept up my car keys and ran from the flat as though being chased.
The traffic was appalling. Rush hour should technically have finished by then, and yet every road had queues at junctions and traffic lights that changed three times or more before they let me through.
I had no idea what time the bins were collected in Finn’s area and was trying hard not to focus on the very real possibility that his might already have been emptied by the time I got there.
I drove badly, coming close to scraping the wing of a car in the next lane, and if any of the speed cameras I passed were working, I could expect a flurry of fines in the days to come. But none of that mattered. I was focused only on finding out what was in the bags that I’d stupidly overlooked the day before.
I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator, heedless of another fine, and offered up a silent plea.Just one lucky break, that’s all I need. Just one tiny lucky break.
Whenever something went my way, either at work or personally, I liked to think my mum was behind it. It was a stupid notion that I’d never shared with anyone except Finn, for fear it would sound as crazy to them as it did to me.
But Finn hadn’t laughed. ‘I think that’s a lovely way of looking at it,’ he’d said, drawing me closer against him. Perhaps it was because he understood how hard it was to lose a parent. At any age. And he’d lost both of his so young. ‘If someone has looked out for you all your life, it makes sense they’d want to carry on doing that – wherever they are now.’ It was a comforting thought that I took with me into dreams at night. And it helped. It really did.
So when I finally pulled into Finn’s road and saw the grey refuse-collection vehicle up ahead, my first instinct was to whisper a grateful, ‘Thank you, Mum.’
The refuse vehicle was blocking the road, and I was in a queue at least ten cars deep, waiting for it to move. As I peered beyond the line of cars, I saw a man emerge from the side of Finn’s building, trundling two wheelie bins in his wake. I was too far away to read the numbers painted on them.
My fingers drummed an anxious tattoo against the steering wheel as I stared through the windscreen. The driver of the truck leant out of his cab and shouted something to the crew, which seemed to immediately galvanise them. Suddenly everyone began moving faster. The man in the high-vis vest, wheeling the bins from Finn’s building, moved to the back of the truck.
At the head of the queue of cars, someone had found a gap to squeeze through, but there were still nine cars ahead of me. I wasn’t going to reach the dustcart in time. With a crunch of mechanical gears, one of the bins was lifted from the pavement.
‘No!’ I shouted, too late to stop the rubbish from cascading into the gaping mouth of the truck. In frustration, I smacked my hand on the steering wheel, startling myself and everyone around me as my car’s horn turned every head my way. It bought me a few extra seconds, and I didn’t waste them.
Without bothering to switch off my engine, I threw open the car door and began running towards the dustcart. I was shouting as I pounded along the pavement, but from that distance no one could make out what I was saying.
The second bin was now lined up, waiting its turn. Sweat trickled into my eyes, stinging them like acid. I wiped them clear just in time to witness a wheelie bin with Finn’s flat number on it begin its upward journey.
‘Stop! Wait! Don’t empty that bin!’ I screamed.
All eyes were on me. I could only imagine that a deranged woman hijacking a wheelie bin wasn’t a regular occurrence. Just when the angle of the bin meant gravity was about to take over, one of the dustmen reached out and thumped a button on the back of the truck. Finn’s bin, which might or might not be holding the answers I was looking for, froze in mid-air and then slowly returned to the ground.
*
‘For the record, I want it noted that I’m really not enjoying this.’
I looked up, brushing the hair out of my eyes with my forearm, making sure to keep my rubber-gloved hands clear of my face.
