We Are All Made Of Glue Part 28

She put her empty cup down and rose to her feet. I tried to persuade her to stay for a bite to eat, and even offered her a bed for the night, but she was desperate to get home. Wonder Boy had stopped purring and was thras.h.i.+ng his tail against the floor.

We set off down the road, Mrs Shapiro leading the way-it was surprising how fast she could move in those Lion King Lion King slippers-Ben and I lagging behind, and Wonder Boy bringing up the rear. It was quite dark and cold, the air still damp from the recent rain. As we turned into Totley Place a couple of the other cats appeared out of the bushes and tagged along, too. Violetta was waiting for us in the porch, ecstatic with pleasure at Mrs Shapiro's return. Wonder Boy hissed, batted her with his paws, and sent her packing. slippers-Ben and I lagging behind, and Wonder Boy bringing up the rear. It was quite dark and cold, the air still damp from the recent rain. As we turned into Totley Place a couple of the other cats appeared out of the bushes and tagged along, too. Violetta was waiting for us in the porch, ecstatic with pleasure at Mrs Shapiro's return. Wonder Boy hissed, batted her with his paws, and sent her packing.

There were lights in some of the windows, and this was surprising in itself, because I'd never before seen Canaan House lit up so brightly from the inside. I noticed that the front door had been painted yellow and the broken floor tiles in the porch replaced with what looked like modern bathroom tiles. While Mrs Shapiro was fumbling for her key, I rang on the doorbell.

It was Mr Ali's nephew, Ishmail, who answered the door. He recognised me at once, and beaming broadly gestured to us to come inside.

"Welcome! Welcome!"

He'd learned another word. The inside of the house had been painted, too, in white and yellow. It looked lighter and fresher, and smelled much better. I saw Mrs Shapiro looking around, and tried to judge the expression on her face. She seemed to be quite pleased.

"You've been busy," I said to Ishmail. "This is Mrs Shapiro. She's the owner of the house. She's come home now, so I'm afraid you'll have to leave. It's what we agreed. Remember?"

He smiled and nodded blankly. He obviously had no idea what I was on about. I tried again, talking more loudly, with accompanying gestures.

"This lady-live here-come back-you must go-go now." I pointed at Mrs Shapiro and made shooing hand movements.

"Yes. Yes." He smiled and nodded.

Then Nabeel appeared on the scene, and joined in the smiling and nodding, offering his three words of English.

"h.e.l.lo. Please. Welcome. h.e.l.lo. Please. Welcome."

"h.e.l.lo. Yes, please. Welcome," said Ishmail.

I went through my pointing and shooing routine. They smiled and nodded.

"h.e.l.lo. Yes. Please."

We were getting nowhere.

Then Ishmail-you have to credit him with some intelligence-got his mobile phone out, keyed a number, and started talking in Arabic to the person at the other end. After a few moments he pa.s.sed the phone to me. It was Mr Ali.

"You'll have to tell them to leave," I said. "Now that Mrs Shapiro's home. They can't stay. You promised-remember? I'm really sorry. I thought we'd have some warning, but..." I was getting a bit hysterical.

I pa.s.sed the phone to Ishmail. He listened for a few moments, then uttered a stream of Arabic, then listened again, then pa.s.sed the phone to me.

"Tonight too late. I have no van." Mr Ali's voice sounded faint and crackly. "Please let them to stay for tonight. Tomorrow I come with van."

"Okay," I said. "Just tonight. I'll talk to Mrs Shapiro. Mr Ali, thank you for the work you've done-the painting-it looks wonderful."

"You like this yellow colour?"

"Very much."

"I knew you would like it." He sounded pleased.

Mrs Shapiro had lost patience with our three-way conversation, and had disappeared somewhere. Ben had wandered off into the study, where a television had been rigged up with an internal aerial and Nabeel was watching football. They sat side by side grinning and cheering when a goal was scored. Nabeel pointed to himself and said, "h.e.l.lo! Please! a.r.s.enal!" Ben pointed to himself and said, "h.e.l.lo, Leeds United!"

I found Mrs Shapiro in her bedroom. She was curled up in bed with Wonder Boy, Violetta, Mussorgsky, and one of the pram babies. Wonder Boy had actually got under the covers with her. They were all purring, and Mrs Shapiro was snoring.

39.

Home improvements Next morning, I woke up with that feeling that I had something important to do, but I couldn't remember what it was. I'd left Mrs Shapiro sleeping at the house last night, and I thought maybe I should go back this morning and check up on her. Then the phone rang. It was Ms Baddiel, reminding me of our meeting and asking for directions to Totley Place. After I'd put the phone down, I had another bright idea. I picked it up again, and dialled Nathan's number.

"I wonder whether you could give us some advice. About the use of modern adhesives in home improvements. This morning. Eleven o'clock." I gave him the address.

"Great. I'll bring the DIY demonstration kit."

"Bring your father, too."

I smiled as I put the phone down. Matchmaking is a game that two can play.

I went up there a bit earlier to make sure everything was s.h.i.+pshape for Ms Baddiel, and to supervise the departure of the Uselesses-I hoped they'd be all packed up and ready to go. When I rang on the bell at about half past ten, it was Ishmail who opened the door again and invited me in. The house was pleasantly warm, and smelled of woodsmoke, freshly brewed coffee and cigarettes. I followed him through to the study at the back of the house where a fire had been lit in the hearth. They were burning sheaves of papers and bits of old wood-including some of the boards that had been taken down from the windows. The television was on, and a sofa, still draped in a white dust sheet, had been dragged through from the drawing room. On the sofa sat Mrs Shapiro and Nabeel. They were smoking and drinking coffee from the silver pot and watching The Hound of the Baskervilles The Hound of the Baskervilles in black and white on the television. Mrs Shapiro was wearing her candlewick dressing gown and her in black and white on the television. Mrs Shapiro was wearing her candlewick dressing gown and her Lion King Lion King slippers. Violetta was curled up on her lap, Mussorgsky was on Nabeel's lap and Wonder Boy was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. It was a scene of cosy decadence. slippers. Violetta was curled up on her lap, Mussorgsky was on Nabeel's lap and Wonder Boy was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. It was a scene of cosy decadence.

"Georgine! Darlink!" She swivelled round and patted the empty s.p.a.ce at the end of the sofa. "Come and drink a coffee mit us."

"Maybe later," I said. "We have to get ready. The social worker's coming."

"What for I need the social work?" Mrs Shapiro sniffed. "I heff my young men."

"But they're going home now, Mrs Shapiro. They have to..."

On the screen, the hound started roaring terrifyingly.

Wonder Boy p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and started swinging his tail. Mrs Shapiro gripped my hand.

"This dog is a monster. Same like the matron in the Nightmare House. Grrah! I will not go back to this place. Never."

"No, definitely not. But this this social worker is nice. She'll help you to stay at home. It's Ms Baddiel. You met her before. Remember?" social worker is nice. She'll help you to stay at home. It's Ms Baddiel. You met her before. Remember?"

"I remember. Not Jewish. Too fet."

She'd lost interest in our conversation, and was watching the fearsome hound racing over the darkening moors.

Ishmail thrust a cup of coffee into my hands. It was thick, black and bitter. He handed me the sugar bowl and though I don't usually take sugar I helped myself to a couple of heaped spoonfuls. I declined the cigarette he offered me, but Mrs Shapiro took it and lit it from the end of the one that was still smouldering in the ashtray at her feet.

"What is this brown boots?" she asked, coughing a little.

As I was trying to explain the significance of the black and brown boots in the plot, the doorbell rang.

The other three were completely gripped by the drama so I got up to answer it. Ms Baddiel was standing there. She was wearing a floaty silk aquamarine coat, and her honey-gold hair was twisted up in a loose braid. Behind her on the porch stood Nathan, with a large attache case under his arm, and Nathan's Tati looking very spruce in a collar and tie. They had obviously introduced themselves already.

"Nathan's come along to advise us about adhesives," I said. "In case there are any urgent repairs that need doing."

"Perr-fect." She followed me through to the study, sniffing the air and looking around her, taking in all the improvements. "Lovely."

Mrs Shapiro hardly looked up as we came into the room, her eyes were fixed on das.h.i.+ng Basil Rathbone on the screen, but Ishmail, with impeccable politeness, jumped up and offered Ms Baddiel his corner of the sofa.

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs Shapiro." She leaned forward towards the old lady. "How are you doing? I understand you've had some adventures."

"Ss.h.!.+" Mrs Shapiro held her finger to her lips. "The hund is killing."

Half an hour or so later, as the final credits rolled, she turned to us and said in a croaky voice, "I heff seen this film once before. Mit Arti. When we were still in loff. Before the sickness snetched him away. So long ago. What has heppened to all the years?"

There were tears in the corners of her eyes. Ms Baddiel leaned forward and hugged her in her plump arms. Then she reached in her bag for a vanilla-scented tissue.

"It's all right now. You can let it all out. Take a deep breath. Hold. Breathe out with a sigh. There. Perfect."

Violetta stretched her paws and rubbed her head against Mrs Shapiro's thigh. Tati put a piece of wood-it looked worryingly like an antique chair leg-on the fire and reached down to stroke Wonder Boy, who rolled on his back, legs thrown apart abandonedly, and started to purr. Nathan and I exchanged smiles. Nabeel went and made another pot of coffee. Ishmail offered round a packet of Camel cigarettes.

"Are you her carer?" Ms Baddiel asked.

"h.e.l.lo. Yes. Please." He flashed his lovely teeth at her.

She took out her Labrador-puppy notebook and wrote something down. Then Nabeel came back from the kitchen with a steaming coffee pot and two fresh cups.

"And you? You're a carer, too?"

"h.e.l.lo. Yes. Welcome!"

"Well, you may be ent.i.tled to claim the Carer's Allowance," she said. "One of you. The Carer's Allowance is payable if you spend at least thirty-five hours a week looking after someone who is in receipt of Attendance Allowance. Are you claiming Attendance Allowance, Mrs Shapiro?"

"What for I need attendents?" said Mrs Shapiro. She was still sniffling a bit.

"Well, you know," Ms Baddiel offered her a tissue, "after what you've been through, Mrs Shapiro, I think you deserve a bit of help. Of course it's up to you, entirely."

A skinny tabby cat jumped up into her lap. She ran her plump chipolatas over its fur making it purr so much it started to dribble and she had to get another tissue out. Nathan's Tati was sitting watching all this with such a solemn look on his face I thought she'd have to hand him a tissue, too.

Then the doorbell rang again. Ishmail was already on his feet so he went to answer it. I heard him talking animatedly, and another quieter voice replying. A moment later, Mr Ali joined us in the study. He and Ishmail were still arguing in Arabic, and now Nabeel joined in. Mr Ali turned to Mrs Shapiro.

"They are saying they want to stay here. They are saying they can baint all house and fixitup and help you make it clean. I will supervise of course. You pay only for materials."

I saw a quick flicker pa.s.s through Mrs Shapiro's eyes. She said nothing.

"You know in our culture we have great respect for old people," Mr Ali pressed on. "But I think mebbe you do not like to have young men into your house, Mrs Naomi?"

Everyone's gaze was now focused on Mrs Shapiro. She looked around cannily. Her eyes were still moist but her cheeks were flushed with excitement, or maybe with too much strong coffee, and I could see her mouth twitch as she weighed up her options.

"I donnow. I donnow." She put one hand dramatically to her brow, and ran the other through Wonder Boy's s.h.a.ggy belly-fur. "Wonder Boy, what you think?" Wonder Boy purred ecstatically. "Okay. We try it."

There was a general exhalation of breath.

Mr Ali led us on a guided tour around the house to show us the improvements he'd made. The dingy hall looked much brighter under its coat of white paint, and the loose floor tiles had been fixed or replaced with s.h.i.+ny white bathroom tiles. I noticed with dismay as we climbed the stairs that the grand old mahogany banisters and handrail had been painted with yellow gloss to match the front door, but Mrs Shapiro didn't seem to mind.

However, the most spectacular change was in the bathroom. The original chipped and cracked white tiles had been retained, but beneath them an entire new bathroom suite had been installed. Well, it wasn't exactly new-it looked as if it dated back to the sixties and had been taken out of a house undergoing renovation-two houses, in fact. There was a wide rose-pink washbasin and matching lavatory complete with pink plastic seat cover, and under the window an avocado-green bath with curved chrome handrails. The rotten floorboards under the lavatory had been patched up, and a piece of lino in blue-and-white mosaic covered the whole floor. If you were colour blind, it would have been lovely.

As my eyes scanned the room, they fell on a white porcelain toothbrush holder fixed on to the wall above the basin. I bent closer to take a surrept.i.tious look while everyone was oohing and aahing over the bath. Yes, it was definitely the same one. There was even a small chip on one side-must be from where I'd tossed it into the skip. It was quite stylish-clean lines, Scandinavian-style. But really, at the end of the day, it was just a toothbrush holder. To imagine I'd once got so worked up over it!

Then Mr Ali turned the taps on and off to demonstrate that they all worked. As he flushed the lavatory, steam rose as the clean water from the cistern swirled about.

"Er-isn't it hot, the water?" Nathan observed.

Mr Ali stared into the toilet pan with a puzzled frown.

"Some small mistake. Maybe wrong beep. Soon fixitup."

"But the hot water is much better!" cried Mrs Shapiro. "You are a very clever-knodel, Mr Ali."

He beamed at her. "Colours you like?"

"The pink is nice colour," she said. "Better than the green."

"Lovely," I said.

"Lovely," said Ms Baddiel, who had seen-and smelled-the original.

"They've developed a new kind of flexible non-crack tile adhesive based on a thixotropic gel," said Nathan, producing a tub of something from his demonstration pack. "Should you be thinking of replacing the tiles."

Nathan's Tati cleared his throat and sang a verse of the 'Toreador Song' from Carmen Carmen that resonated in the small s.p.a.ce. that resonated in the small s.p.a.ce.

"Good acoustics!" he said. Everyone applauded apart from Nathan.

The bedroom the Uselesses were sharing was the one with the white UPVC window. It had been replastered over the breeze block and actually, from inside, it didn't look so bad. The walls were freshly painted white, and the beds neatly made with the burgundy velour curtains for bedcovers. Their shoes, folded clothes and carrier bags were lined up tidily against one wall. I caught Nathan's eye.

"Admirably spic and span," was all he said.

Mrs Shapiro's bedroom was untouched, the wallpaper a faded-out colourless fawn with small nondescript flowers picked out in muddy taupe.

"We will baint it up next. What colour you like it?" asked MrAli.

She pressed her fingers against her brow as she tried to envision a new room.

"What about the penthouse?" I whispered to Mr Ali. "Have you started up there?"

"Not yet. Still clearing rubbish. Boys burning it. But slow."

"They're burning all the papers?" I had an image of priceless historical records going up in smoke. "Mrs Shapiro? Aren't some of your belongings up there?"

"Is all the rubbish belonging previous inhebitants," she said dismissively. "Was some type of religious persons living here before. Orsodox or Kessolik I don't know. They heff left behind all their rubbish and run away."

"They ran away?"