“No problem. And get your act together. Literally.”
Tim flicked his cigarette away. “Oh, one last thing,” he said, standing up. “Always keep an eye on your stuff. People nick anything that’s not nailed down around here.”
“Got it,” said Danny. “Thanks again.”
He watched the man leave, still marveling at the plump cat perched so calmly on his shoulder, until he suddenly remembered his unattended clothes. Jumping up, he ran over to where he’d left them, but it was too late. His bag was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER 9
Danny had once seen a man in his sixties pogo-stick the entire length of Regent Street dressed in nothing but a baggy pair of underpants that rode precariously lower the closer he got to Piccadilly Circus. Thousands of other people saw him too, but nobody paid much attention. That was one of the many things that Danny loved about Londoners. Nothing fazed them, no matter how strange, and the weirder something was, the less likely they were to give a shit about it. Or so he’d always believed. But as the doors closed behind him and the bus lurched into motion, Danny realized that his perception of Londoners might not have been entirely accurate.
He tried to act normal, or as normal as he could while riding public transport dressed as a panda, but the other passengers made it difficult to maintain that illusion, especially the teenagers who were filming him on their phones and the old lady in the oversize duffel coat who glared at him as he sat down. He thought about removing the mask at least, partly because he was sweating but mainly because he felt ridiculous, but fearing that somebody from the building site (or, worse, Will’s school) might recognize him, he grudgingly left it on and tried to ignore the looks he was getting.
The bus groaned to a halt and a young, dark-haired woman got on. She was tall and slender enough to make her way through the crowded bus without disrupting anybody, but that didn’t stop her from disrupting people anyway, shunting passengers out of her way as she strode down the aisle, even those who weren’t in her way to begin with. Her colossal hoop earrings were larger than the bus’s grab handles and she chewed her gum so loudly that the sound hit Danny long before she whacked him in the head with her handbag.
“Watch out,” said Danny.
“What?” said the woman as she took the seat opposite, her already mini miniskirt riding even higher on her thighs as she did so.
“You just hit me in the head with your bag.”
“And? You just hit my bag with your head, but you don’t hear me bitchin’ about it.”
“What you got in there anyway, a brick?” said Danny, rubbing his head.
“Brass knuckles,” she said. “Wanna see?”
He glanced at her fingers. They were covered in so many rings that he doubted she needed knuckle dusters. Her nails were painted neon pink and she clutched a mobile phone embossed with shiny studs spelling Krystal.
Danny shook his head and looked out of the window. A gang of teenagers were laughing at him and giving him the wanker sign. He stared at the floor and tried to calculate how many stops he had left.
“Why you dressed like a skunk anyway?” said Krystal.
Danny said nothing and hoped she’d leave him alone. She didn’t.
“Oi. Skunk. Skunky. Skunk man. Skunkerino. Skunk-a-tron. Uptown Skunk.”
“I’m not a skunk,” he said with a sigh.
“No?” said Krystal, sniffing the air. “You fucking smell like one.”
“No, I don’t,” said Danny, fully aware that he did.
“Yeah, you do. You smell like a sock full of yesterday’s puke.”
“Skunks don’t smell like socks full of puke,” said Danny, remembering that Mo had once told him that skunk spray actually smelled like an ungodly combination of burning tires and moldy onions. He briefly considered telling Krystal this but decided against it.
“Well, this skunk does,” she said, pointing at Danny.
“I told you already, I’m not a skunk.”
“What are you, then? A ferret with scabies?”
“No.”
“A rat with Ebola?”
“Wrong again.”
Krystal turned to the old lady in the duffel coat beside her. “Any ideas?” she said.
“A pervert,” said the old lady, scowling at Danny.
“I think you might be right,” said Krystal.
“I’m a panda. Okay? That’s what I am. A panda. Got that? Great.”
A burst of laughter shot from Krystal’s mouth so forcefully that her gum flew out and stuck to Danny like a little gray belly button.
“A panda!” she said. “Fuck me, that’s a good one.”
“Seriously!” said Danny, staring at the masticated wad of gum that was now firmly attached to his fur.
“Stay still,” said Krystal, aiming her phone at Danny and struggling to keep it steady amid fits of laughter. She snapped a photograph, looked at it, and cracked up again.
“I really don’t see why this is so funny.”
“Shush,” she said, muttering to herself as her fingers danced rapidly across her screen. “Look at this tragic bastard lol no wonder pandas are extinct lol who would shag that lol hashtag sad fucker hashtag pervert.”
“Can you at least give me a tissue or something?” said Danny as the bus crawled to a halt and Krystal stood to leave.
“Here,” she said, pulling a handful of napkins from her purse and throwing them at Danny. “Later, gummy bear. Get it? Gummy bear?”
“Hilarious,” muttered Danny, plucking at his fur with a napkin as Krystal got off the bus. He looked at the old lady, who was still scowling at him.
“I’m not a pervert,” he said.
* * *
Ivana opened the door, screamed, and slammed it shut again.
Danny stood in the corridor for a moment as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Remembering that he still had the panda mask on, he was about to remove it when the door flew open a second time and Ivan came barging out. Before Danny could speak, Ivan grabbed him by the throat and backed him up against the wall while Ivana repeatedly clobbered him with a broom.
“Stop,” he croaked, struggling to prise Ivan’s fingers off. “It’s me… Danny…”
“Danny?” said Ivan, his grip relaxing slightly.
“Danny?” said Ivana. She instantly dropped the broom. “Why you dress like rat?”
“Yeah, why you dress like rat? Ivana, she hate rats.”
“I’m not a rat,” said Danny, removing the mask and gently massaging his half-crushed larynx. “I’m a panda.”
“I almost black your eyes like panda,” said Ivan, waving his knuckles in front of Danny’s face. “Come, before neighbors see.”
Ivan ushered Danny into the flat, which was absurdly small for a man of Ivan’s size, although everything seemed absurdly small for a man of Ivan’s size, even things that weren’t necessarily small at all, like vending machines, and fridge freezers, and certain brands of car.
Danny nestled himself amid a sea of hand-embroidered cushions that covered almost every part of the couch. Ivan collapsed into a well-worn armchair riddled with doilies and stared at Danny as if he had some terrible news to share but couldn’t quite find the right words.