I looked around for a phone, but couldn’t see one anywhere. It looked like I’d have to go all the way back down to the concierge’s office and call for help from there… but I didn’t fancy waiting around and having to admit that I’d lied to him in order to get up here. Equally I didn’t want to keep up the pretense to the authorities, and wind up organizing a stranger’s funeral.
I turned away from Mrs Kerr and moved towards the doorway, when I thought I heard a door close.
“Wayne?” I said, “that you, son?”
“Wayne’s gone,” came a voice, as the door opposite this one creaked open. “Mum kicked him out weeks ago and we’ve never seen him since.”
The voice belonged to a small girl, very skinny, who was clad in a ballerina tutu, pyjama bottoms, and a denim jacket. Her hair hung lank about her shoulders and her face wore the remains of her last meal – which looked like it might’ve been chocolate and baked beans.
“And how long’s your mum been like that?” I asked.
“Three days,” the girl replied. “She gets like this, sometimes. She’ll wake up soon though.”