It was the last Monday in October. A solid grey fog had folded itself around the roofs of all the houses, stealing the chimney tops and smearing vaseline on the streetlamps, so that each light was adorned with an angelic halo.

It was cold outside, and not the sort of day for Kieran to be standing on a freezing tube platform, waiting for the Piccadilly Line train to take him into town.

While he waited, his mind returned to Ashley.

After one drunken evening, a phone call and a favour, Kieran felt very comfortable with her. Her forward manner made him warm to her. He found he wanted to tell her all about Spireclaw. To him it was a way of connecting his past with Phillip to the present with Ashley. And because she and Phillip had been an item, she might just like to hear something new about him. But then again, perhaps that was the last thing she wanted.

At work, during the mid morning rush between the first and second mail round, while Mr Cray was in a meeting, Kieran used the telephone on Cray’s desk to call his bank.

He was connected to a young woman with a Glasweigian accent. He told her his name and account number.

'Good morning Mr Whyteleafe. Could you please tell me the fourth digit of your security number?'

'Erm. Seven.'

'And the ninth digit please.'

'Three.'

'Thank you Mr Whyteleafe. How can I help you today?'

'I wanted to find out the name of the payee on a cheque that was cashed a week ago. Cheque number 10149. I forgot to write the name on the stub.'

'Just one minute sir.'

Kieran heard her tapping away on a distant keyboard. A pause, followed by more tapping.

'Hello sir?'

'Yes?'

'The cheque was made out to a Mr David Everett.'

'David Everett, thank you. And do you have an address for him?'

'I'm sorry we don't,' said the woman. 'Our instruction is just to transfer the funds over to his account, and as he is with a different bank, we don't hold any of his details.'

'I see,' Kieran was writing "David Everett" on a Post-it note. 'Well thank you very much for your help.'

'Is there anything else I can help you with today Mr Whyteleafe?'

'No, thank you.'

'Okay then, goodbye.'

'Goodbye.'

Kieran replaced the receiver.

He looked at the name he had written on the page. David Everett. He had never come across it before. So why had he written a cheque for fifty pounds out to the man?

Kieran contemplated picking up the phone and calling his bank again. It may have been too late to stop the cheque, but he could still report fraud.

He checked himself, deciding that he might do a little investigation himself first.

 

~

 

There is an unwritten rule among the initiated that states you always need something two weeks after you throw it away, and that the time is reduced if you owned the thing for longer in the first place. The same applies to bulk storage. It was very likely, Kieran thought, that Edward Gosnell would need to gain access to his boxes straight away, as was often the case. But if the boxes went a full two weeks without him calling them back, then it was likely that they would never be needed again. Kieran wanted to make sure.

That afternoon, in the lull after the lunch hour, before the first of the afternoon mail rounds, Kieran went down to the sub-basement to look at cage 14. He was relieved to find that the boxes were arranged just as he'd left them. Clearly Edward Gosnell hadn't put in a request for them, and if Kieran wanted to, he could probably steal the boxes and nobody would ever know.

 

~

 

That evening, after Kieran and Gandalf were fully fed, and the latest events in Albert Square had unfolded on the television, Kieran took out the local phone book from the small shelf by the front door and skipped through it to the letter E.

There were two entries for Everett, D.

Kieran wondered which name, if either, was the one he'd paid fifty pounds to.

He picked up phone in the kitchen and dialed the number of the first entry.

A young woman answered the phone, 'Hello?'

'Hello. Could I please speak with David Everett?'

There was a pause on the line, 'I'm sorry, who?'

'D. Everett?'

'There's no David Everett here.'

'Then I'm sorry to have bothered you, said Kieran. 'I must have the wrong number.'

He put the phone down and dialed the second number. It was answered before Kieran's phone registered that it had even rung.

'Hello?' said a man, who seemed put out that his phone had rung.

'Hello. Is this David Everett?'

'Yes this is he.'

Kieran felt the blood drain out of his face. All of a sudden he had no idea what to say. He contemplated hanging up the receiver. Perhaps this wasn't the right David Everett anyway.

'What do you want?' the man said.

'I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Kieran Whyteleafe, and...'

'Oh, hello Kieran. I didn't recognise your voice for a second there.'

Kieran pulled his head away from the phone. What?

The man spoke again, 'Did you get the boxes alright?'

Kieran was trying to blink away the confusion. His brain was trying to piece it together.

'Boxes?' Kieran said, his voice had broken down into a half whisper.

'Yes. I sent them to your office like you asked,' said David.

Kieran was at a complete loss for what to say. He started to feel sick. His mouth went dry. His eyes darted around the kitchen, hunting for some sense in the situation. He found himself looking at the phone book. Specifically at the address of the man he was talking to.

Number 7, Highfield Road, Ealing.

A shiver ran down his entire body.

7 Highfield Road was the address of his childhood home. The house he and his mother had lived in when he was a child. The house where he and Phillip had seen the word "Spireclaw" written in that dark cellar all those years ago.

'I'm sorry,' Kieran said. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

David Everett said nothing for a few seconds. Then, 'Are you alright mate?'

'I think I must be going mad...'