Chapter 5: The Stairs

The key box beside the front door of my London building did not open.

I tried the code from the email four times.

It was ten in the morning, I had been awake for twenty-six hours, and my two suitcases were blocking a narrow white staircase.

The email had said, "Your landlord will leave the key in the box."

The box said otherwise.

I sat down on the third step with my back against the wall and decided I would allow myself to cry about it, briefly.

"It sticks," said a voice above me.

I looked up.

A man sat on the landing halfway up the next flight with a fat gray cat across his lap.

He had dark hair that needed cutting and a gray wool jumper with one cuff unraveling.

He did not look like he had slept much either.

"The box," he said. "You have to lift it a little as you turn it. The landlord won't fix it. He says it gives the building character."

"Is that your cat?"

"No. She belongs to the woman in 2B. She's sitting me, I think." He scratched the cat's ear. "I'm Owen. Third floor."

"Corinne. Flat one."

"The American." His mouth twitched. "The landlord told me. He left a spare with me, since he assumed you'd be late."

"I'm not late."

"It's the next day."

"I got stuck behind a man at passport control who was carrying a live lobster."

"What, in a bag?"

"In a cooler. He declared it. It took twenty minutes. The lobster was fine."

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