Free A Cast of Vultures by Judith Flanders

neighbourhood. Steve does odd jobs.’ I gestured outside. ‘He cuts the ivy back when it needs it.’
    Jake had his don’t-mess-with-me-matey police mask firmly on. ‘You use a cowboy trader, with no fixed address?Someone whose skills you know nothing about? To do something as dangerous as wiring?’
    I was not going to lose my temper. I was not going to lose my temper. I repeated it twice, to make sure I knew. And I was proud I managed to keep my voice level. ‘He does have a fixed address. He works from that house. And he’s not a cowboy. He’s qualified. And, what’s more, he pays his taxes: he never does work without receipts.’ I was calm, but I didn’t mind playing dirty: Jake’s car mechanic of choice insisted on cash payments.
    ‘He’s a squatter!’ Jake was incandescent.
    I stuck to my calm voice, although I suspected my calmness was making Jake angrier. ‘I understand what you’re saying. I understand that from your point of view they are committing criminal trespass, even if what they are doing has only been upgraded from a civil offence in the last few years by a government that I know you think too is doing its very best to criminalise poverty—’ I waved off his protest. ‘I agree. I’m off the point. What the point is that I don’t agree with you that squatting is, in and of itself, necessarily wrong. That building had been empty for years before they moved in. Even you—’ All expression vanished from Jake’s face, and I closed my eyes in regret. I began again. ‘I know what the law says, but in human terms it is hard to see what harm is being done by six people living in a building no one had used for a decade. Living outside normal property arrangements doesn’t make you a criminal, or a vagrant, or a deviant.’
    He didn’t reply, just pulled his plate back and started to eat again, stabbing with his fork as though the meal had made a particularly vicious personal remark.
    There was no point trying to get him to see it my way. I went for damage limitation. ‘Look, how does this sound: he won’t have access to the house, because there’s no reason for him to; I’ll get his last name, and ask for some ID; and I’ll arrange for him to come and see the garden while you’re here, and make sure he knows you’re a cop, and that you live here. And if there’s any sign at any point that they knew about the activities of the man in the shed, we’ll end the agreement.’
    ‘Fine,’ he said, but without looking up. And went on stabbing at the poor, innocent chilli.
    We had silently cleaned up the kitchen, and Jake was pretending to watch television while I pretended to read a manuscript, when Steve texted. I showed it to Jake and said, ‘In the morning before work?’
    ‘Fine,’ he said again. Just like ‘Yeah, right’ really means Not even if you set fire to my hair , ‘Fine’ always means How many ways are there to say no in English?
    But I had his nominal agreement. I texted Steve a time, and we went to bed, where we pretended to sleep. I hated quarrelling with Jake.
     
    In the morning, I stopped behind him as he was brushing his teeth. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, even if it was more regret that we were at odds than an apology for my actions.
    He spat and gave me a small smile in the mirror. ‘But not sorry enough not to do it.’ He wasn’t asking. He knew I wasn’t.
    I smiled back into the mirror and shrugged, and he shook his head. And he ruffled my hair as he walked past me into the bedroom. It was a bit the way you pat a small dog, oran overexcited child. But it also signalled his acceptance of my plans, even if he didn’t like them. For that I could put up with the odd hair ruffle.
    We were drinking our coffee when Steve arrived. I led him into the kitchen and waved him to a seat. ‘I’m not sure we’ve ever got as far as last names,’ I said. ‘I’m Sam Clair.’
    ‘Steve Marshall,’ he said, sitting.
    When he looked towards Jake, I added, ‘And this is