Portobello by Ruth Rendell Page A

ever got. 'Make yourselves at home.' His cloudy old eyes were
glittering with malice. 'Any friends of my nephew's are friends
of mine.' He poked two cigarettes out of the packet. 'Want a
ciggie?'
    Ian Pollitt took no notice. Fize shook his head. From his jeans
pocket he fetched something in a small plastic bag. 'You know
what this is?'
    Lance did. He had seen it before, though in a bloodstained
condition. It was Gemma's tooth. Dry-mouthed, he nodded. Uncle
Gib looked at the tooth, did a double take and jumped to his feet,
throwing up his hands. Fize watched him, apparently with
sympathy, and at last he sat down, patting the seat beside him
and smiling quite pleasantly.
    'It's like this,' he said when Uncle Gib had joined him, looking
up at Lance, 'Gemma's a very good-looking girl, as you know. Now
she's got a horrendous great gap in her mouth, thanks to you.
You'd agree with that, wouldn't you?'
    'Don't matter whether he does or not,' said Pollitt.
    Again Lance nodded. It was Uncle Gib who spoke. 'He'll agree
all right. He knows what he's done.'
    'Now Gemma's been to the dentist and he says she needs an
implant, that's what he called it, an implant, and that don't come
cheap. Now Gemma's a single parent and she don't have that kind
of money.'
    'What kind of money?' Uncle Gib was relishing this. Lance
could see he had difficulty in suppressing his laughter.
    It was Pollitt's turn to speak. 'The dentist said he'd do it as
economical as what he could but it'll still be a grand. One K, if
you get my meaning.'
    Lance found his voice with difficulty. 'A thousand pounds?'
    'Right. You got it.'
    'But I haven't got it,' Lance said. 'Where am I to get a thousand
pounds? I'm signing on.'
    'You should have thought of that before you smacked a young
lady in the mouth.'
    'Me and Gemma,' said Fize, 'we're not unreasonable, we'll give
you till Saturday.'
    Pollitt intervened again. 'Next Saturday, that's May twenty-six.
By midnight, mind. That's the deadline.You can bring it round to
her place, you know where it is.'
    Lance nodded, dry-mouthed.
    'Don't think her and Fize haven't seen you stalking her, hanging
about outside at all hours.'
    'I haven't got no money,' said Lance.
    'Get it off this gentleman then,' said Fize politely. 'He's a property
owner, isn't he? He's got to be loaded.'
    'He knows better than that,' said Uncle Gib. 'What, me lend a
thousand quid to a fellow who's only my dear late wife's greatnephew?
I should coco.'
    But all this talk of money stayed in Uncle Gib's mind. He was a property owner but he wasn't making prudent use of his
property. As a religious man dedicated to God's work, he attributed
this to his innocence and lack of wordliness. But next day,
when Lance was out, he went up to the top of the first flight and
untied the rope that cut off access to the second floor. That faculty
which, in most people, detects dirt and disorder had been left out
of Uncle Gib's make-up. Up in the three rooms on the attic floor
he noticed nothing of the cobwebs and the grime, nor did the
lack of bathroom facilities or even running water strike him. There
was no furniture, of course, and some idea retained from one of
the short periods in his middle years when he hadn't been inside
told him that the law wouldn't let you evict a tenant from unfurnished
accommodation. Still, that was easily solved. Take that
good table from Lance's room, a couple of chairs from the dining
room and pick up a mattress from somewhere. A bed wasn't
needed, a mattress on the floor would do perfectly well.
    No need to think twice. Uncle Gib sat down at the table in
the kitchen to compose his advertisement. Lately he'd seen quite
a bit on the TV about young people not being able to get on to
the property ladder and, seeing the prices of those places he
studied in estate agents' brochures, he wasn't surprised. He'd be
doing a service to humanity, showing love for his neighbour by
offering accommodation to rent. So how much to ask? Rented
property advertised by