Free Ruins by Joshua Winning Page A

man continued, gesturing at Nicholas.
    “And Isabel,” Nicholas added.
    The woman’s smile slackened at the sight of the cat on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Ah,” she began. “House pets. Thing is, we don’t normally allow them. Rudy’s friendly as anything when it comes to people, but other cats...”
    “We don’t want to cause a problem,” Sam interjected.
    Aileen’s gaze softened as it returned to him and she flapped the air with podgy hands. “No bother, no bother. I’m sure we can arrange something.”
    The chatter subsided.
    “Could we–?” Sam entreated, crooking an elbow at the door.
    Aileen threw her hands up again and dabbed delicately at her forehead. “Look at me, blathering on and I’ve not even invited you in. Yes, yes, come in, come in.”
    The hallway was busy and dated. The yellowing wallpaper was distractingly fussy and a string of oval-shaped frames lined the walls. A doily-covered table by the door supported an ancient telephone with a dial. Beside that was a framed photo of a tabby cat with a protruding fang. The patterned carpet, paired with the scent of bleach, made Nicholas woozy.
    “Come in, come in,” Aileen insisted, leading them through the house. “It’s lucky I cleaned this morning. You should’ve seen the state of the place just yesterday, you’d have called for Aggie and Kim in a moment’s breath.”
    For some reason, Nicholas doubted Aileen’s house was ever anything other than spotless.
    They passed an equally antiquated living room, where yet more doilies were draped over the backs of every chair, and a steep staircase, then went into the kitchen. Nicholas felt as if he’d stumbled across a set from an old sitcom. Everything was a lurid shade of green. The cupboard doors. The plates fixed to the wall. The bustling wallpaper. The only thing that wasn’t green was the linoleum floor. It was orange.
    Nicholas looked at Sam, but the old man didn’t seem to have noticed.
    “Just a minute,” Aileen said. She foraged in a drawer and retrieved a rudimentary wooden carving of a woman. It had twigs for hair and cut-stone for eyes.
    “You don’t mind, do you?” Aileen asked, turning to them.
    “By all means,” Sam said, taking the effigy. He held it for a few seconds and then handed it to Nicholas, whose bemusement must have been clear. Just who was this woman?
    “Only a precaution,” Aileen explained brightly. “It screams bloody murder if you’re a bad egg. Can’t be too careful what with everybody coming and going around here. I’m not one for rumours, but better safe than sorry, I always say. Ah, lovely.” She took the totem back and threw it into the drawer. “You’ll be wanting your rooms first. And then I’ll put the kettle on.” She opened a lime green door to what turned out to be a pantry.
    “The beds will need making up; it’s been a while,” Aileen quavered as she went inside, talking more to herself than either of her guests. Nicholas noticed she was playing with a set of keys. What was she doing?
    Sam followed Aileen into the pantry and beckoned for Nicholas to do the same.
    At the back of the storeroom rested a full set of shelves, all of them crammed with food. Tins. Fresh vegetables. Little herb containers. It was as if Aileen was expecting an air raid any moment and she’d be blown if she was going to let any of her guests starve if that happened.
    Their host brandished an old key and foraged between the shelves for something. Nicholas saw her flabby arm jiggling, then heard the click of a lock. Aileen pushed a shelf and the wall swung inward.
    “Didn’t I mention?” Sam said to him, knowing full well that he hadn’t. “Aileen runs a Sentinel safehouse.”
    “Safehouse?” Nicholas asked.
    “They’re dotted all over the place,” Sam told him. “You can never be too careful. The house itself is a false front for the real house, which resides behind. A quite clever idea, I have to say. Very Dutch. Who’d ever suspect