I began to think the days without drink had left me damaged.
I took myself to a wine bar off Shandwick Place. These joints make me want to chuck. All the suits, designer mostly. Talk of blue-sky thinking and running ideas up the flagpole. Everyone looking so cocky, comfortable. I knew I despised them not only for what they were, but for what they had.
I could only stomach five minutes in the place. Long enough to drop two triples, and settle my shakes.
The bus out to the East End seemed slower than usual. Roads clogged up with taxis and teenage cruisers. When I finally made it to Fallingdoon House the whisky had hit in and sleep seemed ready to fall upon me.
Then I saw the blue lights. Police. Fire. Ambulance.
It took all my strength, but I managed to sprint the final few hundred yards.
The place was in disarray. Smoke billowed from a ground-floor window that had been smashed for the firemen to climb through. In the front yard the occupants stood in pyjamas and nighties, shivering and coughing their lungs up.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ I shouted.
None of them answered, the look of shock on their faces said they knew as much as me.
I grabbed a cop. ‘What’s happened?’
‘A fire.’
‘Really?’ I kept the no shit Sherlock to myself. ‘Anyone hurt?’
The copper tipped his head back, looked at me from under the brim of his hat. ‘Do you live here, sir?’
‘No. Well, I used to.’
His head came forward, chased by a frown. ‘Used to?’
‘Look my friend lives here. Milo. Is he all right?’
‘I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask the inspector.’
I left him standing with a thumb casually stuck in his belt, could think of a better place for it but let it slide.
Inside the house the walls were blackened. The floor squelched underfoot from the gallons of water that had been pumped in to put out the fire. It was impossible to say where the fire had been, but then I heard voices coming from Milo’s room. I took off, sliding on the wet carpet and collecting black streaks of soot down my arms and hands as I tried to steady myself.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ said a trench coat, bald head and beaten-up features falling in behind.
‘Dury. My friend lives here.’
He eyed me up and down. ‘No one lives here. Not any more.’
‘Come again?’
He turned away from me, spoke to one of the uniforms. As I stared at the back of his bald head I felt ready to rabbit-punch him through the wall.
‘What do you mean, no one lives here any more?’
Trench coat flicked his head at the uniform and then turned to face me. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he started to speak, ‘Look at that.’
His eyes pointed to a pile of empty bottles in the corner of the room; they were blackened and burned.
‘Empties, so what?’
‘No one lives here any more, because the old dosser who stayed in this room got tanked up on cheapo Vladivar and burnt himself the fuck alive!’
I felt suddenly drained of blood. My mouth dried up and a deadbolt twisted in my stomach.
‘You see… that’s the danger of smoking and drinking.’ He pointed to a pile of charred mess in the corner, I could vaguely make out the iron bedstead where Milo laid his head every night, was that heap all that remained of him?
‘Fucking silly old bastard,’ he said.
‘No. No! You’ve made a mistake. He didn’t drink, and he sure as hell didn’t smoke!’
I walked over to the broken window and grabbed for air. Outside the spinning lights of the fire engines slapped me senseless. I felt my knees weaken, I steadied myself on the ledge and prepared to fall.
‘Mistake — bullshit. It’s a no-brainer, seen it a million times before: some old jakey starts drinking to the old days, thinking he can still put it away and then — whoof! Probably didn’t feel a thing.’
I turned round too fast, the room spun with me. ‘No! You’ve got it wrong. This is murder! He called me to say there was something going on.’
‘Murder? Don’t make me laugh!’
I ran over and grabbed him by the lapels. ‘I’m telling you — you’ve got to look into this properly.’
The jokey tone dropped from the trench coat’s voice. ‘Who the hell are you to be telling me my job?’ As he spoke my arms got knocked into the air. It was just enough to set me off balance and drop me on the wet, soot-blackened floor.
‘This is an open and shut case — the old jakey set himself alight after drinking all that shit. And by the smell of your breath, son, you could do with watching how much you’re putting away.’
‘But-’
‘But fuck all. Get your arse out of my sight before I run you in for getting on my nerves. Now move it!’