“Can’t say that I have, Barney.” Mary answered. “You’re not going to be long, are you? Only I’ve got some stuff to be getting on with.” She asked Barney, irritated.

“No, no, not long, not long.” Said Barney, examining the window sill. He turned around and looked at Mary, his eyes drifting towards her bosom again.

“Well, your lounge window seems to be fine, I’ll just have to, erm, check the bedroom window now.” Barney informed her.

“What, now? It’s in a bit of a mess… I haven’t made the bed yet. Can’t you come back in half an hour?” Asked Mary.

“Sorry love. I need to get this checked right away.” Replied Barney, who was already making his way down the hallway and towards the bedroom.

Mary followed Barney into the room. He walked over to the window sill, and began running his hand across its wooden surface.

“Well?” Asked Mary.

“No, it looks fine. I’m guessing Mr Bedford’s mould problem is just an isolated incident.” Barney speculated.

“Good. Then are you done?” Mary wanted to know. Barney stood close to the window, sweat dribbling down his forehead. He smiled.

“Yes, yes, I’m done.” He told her. Mary gave him a false smile back. Barney didn’t move from his spot by the window.

“Barney, I need to get on with…”

“Has anyone ever told you what an attractive young woman you are, Mary?” The landlord suddenly asked.

“No.” Mary lied, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Oh Christ, he’s gonna make a pass at me, she thought to herself; this sort of thing had happened quite a few times before, with other men. It was rarely flattering, just embarrassing, not to mention cringe-inducing.

“You remind me of that actress… now what was her name? She was French. You’ve probably never heard of her, because you’re too young. Ah, I remember… Anouk Aimee…”

“You’re right, Barney, I’ve never heard of her. Now, are you finished, or what?” Butted-in Mary, with increasing irritation. Just go away, you ugly, pot-bellied slime-ball. Go on, just fuck off… thought Mary, but Barney continued to stand by the window, rooted to the spot.

A bead of sweat run from Barney Robbins forehead, into his eye, stinging it. He removed his spectacles, rubbing at the eye for a moment, before replacing his glasses.

“You look tired, Barney. You should go back to your flat and get some rest.” Commented Mary, who was desperate to get the landlord out of her flat.

“Oh, me, I’m fine, Mary, I’m fine.” He stared at her, and slowly shook his head from side to side. “You’re such a pretty young thing, aren’t you?” He said.

“If you say so, Barney. Now, can you go, please?” Mary replied. Instead of leaving the bedroom, Barney Robbins sat down on Mary’s unmade bed. “Er, what do you think you’re doing, Barney?” She asked, with mild outrage. Barney looked up at her and smiled.

“I’d like to help you, Mary. I’d really like to help.” Barney said to her.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Barney?” Mary asked.

“What I say. I’d like to help. You know, with your rent and stuff. I mean, it must be hard, making the monthly payments on this place.” Pondered Barney. “Your job couldn’t pay very much, and…”

“I get by just fine, thanks.” Mary responded, coldly. “Can you go now, please?”

“Hear me out, Mary, just… just hear me out.” Replied Barney. He gazed at the outline of Mary’s breasts again. In response, Mary folded her arms.

“Barney, I really need to get on with stuff.” She repeated, but Barney wasn’t going anywhere.

Barney leaned forward, and began stroking his beard.

“At the moment, you’re paying me, how much is it? A hundred and twenty pounds a week in rent.” He said.

“Yeah? So?” Responded Mary, who already knew where this was going.

“Well, how would you like it if I said to you that I could halve your rent… reduce it to sixty quid a week?” Barney asked.

“In other words, how would I like to be your prostitute, for the price of sixty pounds, on a regular, weekly basis?” Mary corrected him.

“Oh, come on now Mary, I didn’t mean…”

“Yes you did, Barney, yes you did. You’re offering me a reduction in the rent on this place, in exchange for sex, aren’t you?” Scowled Mary.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be full-on sex. Just a hand-job every now and then would do.” Suggested Barney.

“Get out of my flat, Barney.” Mary snapped.

“No, no… don’t be hasty, Mary. Just think about it. You could save yourself two hundred and forty pounds a month. Imagine what you could do with that extra money.” Said the landlord.

“I don’t want to imagine anything, Barney. Now, will you get out of my flat and leave me alone?” Replied Mary, half-shouting.

“Aw, come on, Mary.” Barney gently pleaded, and he reached out with his hand, towards her thigh. Mary jumped backwards.

“Get out of my fucking flat, Barney.” She said, her body tensing, anger about to spill over.

“But…”

“Get out, or I swear to God, Barney, I’ll claw your fucking eyes out, you sleazy little shit-bag.” Mary seethed. Barney got up from off the bed, and scurried past Mary. When he reached the bedroom door, he turned back to the young woman.

“It might be an idea if you started looking for alternative accommodation.” He suggested.

“You can’t do that!” Shouted Mary.

“I think that you’ll find I can. These flats belong to me.” Argued Barney, and with that, he was gone.

***

Mary walked past a row of shops that had seen better days. She was lost in thought, recalling Barney the pervy landlord, and how he had tried it on with her, when a voice came from somewhere behind.

“Hey, Mary… it’s Mary, right?” Said the male voice. Mary turned around. A young man, about nineteen or twenty years of age, with blonde hair, brown eyes, and lengthy stubble that was turning into a full-on beard, stood in one of the shop doorways, smoking a cigarette. Mary didn't recognise the young man at all. She retraced a few steps, walking towards him.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Mary asked.

“No, I don’t think that we’ve actually met before… but I’ve seen you around Coldsleet a few times. You’re Kay Trenton’s sister, right?” Asked the young man.

“Yes, that’s right. How do you know that?” Mary was intrigued to know. The man walked out from the shop doorway. Blimey, he’s really good-looking, Mary thought to herself.

“Oh, you walked past me and my friend, Gary, a few days ago, down by the harbour. I asked Gary if he knew who you were, and he…”

“Gary Ackley? Gary with the blue mohican?” Interrupted Mary.

“Yeah, Gary Ackley. With the blue mohican. He told me you were Kay Trenton’s sister, and that your name was Mary.” Replied the young man.

“Oh, I know Gary Ackley. Everybody knows Gary in this neck of the woods. He comes up to my hometown, Hoffen, every now and again. He’s a bit scary looking, but he’s a really sweet guy.” Said Mary.

“Scary looking? Gary? He looks like a knob!” Replied the young man, laughing. “Nah, he’s one of my best mates, even if he is a pain in the arse sometimes… Gary’s a good ‘un.” The man said, smiling.

Mary looked up and down the street before turning back to the man.

“So, what’s your name then?” She wanted to know.

“Alex. Alex Crennell.” He replied.

“And what, exactly, are you doing just hanging around an empty row of shops, all on your own, and at this time of night?” Asked Mary.

“Aw, you know what it’s like here in Coldsleet, Mary… there’s bugger all else to do.” Alex grinned. “Anyway, I could ask the same of you. What’s a nice young lady doing wondering the darkened, lonely, streets of this town at half past nine on a cold, Sunday evening?” He joked.

“Now that’s a very long story.” Responded Mary.

“I’m listening.” Said Alex.

“Well, Mister Crennell, I’m not telling.” Mary teased.

“Not even over a drink? Down at ‘The Stagecoach’?” Asked Alex cheekily.