Sketch

3 - Sam

Picture of Ollie on the side!

The flat's a mess. No. It's worse than a mess. It's a hell-hole. The stink of beer and pizza hits me as I try my best to coax the bin liner out of the bin without actually touching any of the crap in there. It smells worse than Ollie's morning breath.

"What you doing?"

I turn around, diving backwards into the kitchen counter as the plastic tub from a ready meal falls out of the bin and onto the floor. Flecks of tomato sauce land on the once white cupboard doors and I screw up my nose.

"I'm trying to clean this shit up," I say, gesturing to the kitchen with a nod of my head, both my hands still timidly clutching the bin liner that's refusing to come out of the bin.

Ollie smiles. "Good luck."

I roll my eyes. "Dude, you live here too."

He sighs before coming around the breakfast bar to stand beside me. This place should look impressive. At least it used to. You can't even see the granite work tops or stainless steel appliances anymore. Not unless you're willing to peel away wrappers and fragments of food from god-knows how long ago.

Ollie grimaces. "This place is a dump."

"Help me get this sucker out of the bin. I'm hoping the death smell with go with it."

Ollie laughs his trademark chuckle. "You could be wishing for too much. Have you seen the state of the sink?"

I cast a nervous glance at the stacks of dirty dishes piled high above the rim of the sink. "Don't get me started," I say. Then, "Where's Vince? This is his problem too."

"I think he's out with Jasmine. Or was it Holly?"

I snort. "Dumb ass."

Ollie shrugs. "He'll get caught one of these days." He moves to grab the side of the pedal bin that's overflowing with empty packages and bottles. He holds firm as I pull and with one last heave the bin liner comes free, bringing with it the rancid smell of decay.

"Jeez! When was the last time we emptied this thing?"

Ollie backs away, one hand covering his mouth and the other brushing off his Killer's t-shirt. "That's rank."

I nod, looking over my shoulder to let out the breath I've been holding. "Don't we have a cleaner?"

"I think she disappeared along with our budget."

I heave the bin liner up into the rubbish chute and brush my hands together when it's disappeared down to the skips at the bottom of the flats. Why we can't just use the chute instead of the bin, I don't know. It would save a load of time gagging at the smell.

"Do you think we can do it?"

ignoring the change in conversation I wash my hands in the sink, around the mountain of dishes, before shaking them dry in Ollie's direction.

He leaps back from me and shakes his now slightly damp hair out of his brown eyes. "Dick."

I smile. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

Ollie sighs and sits down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "This seriously blows. How are we supposed to get a top ten single when hardly anyone knows who we are?"

I lean into the counter and shrug before folding my arms over my chest. Ollie's eyes are pleading me for an answer but I don't have one. Sometimes I hate being the oldest. It puts some uncalled for pressure on my shoulders, like I'm the one who should know what to do in any situation. Truth is, I don't have a clue.

"We better carry on cleaning," I say, pointing at the sink, which is my next priority. "And will you please phone Vince. That idiot needs to get back here so I can force him to vacuum."

Ollie moves to get his phone from the back pocket of his jeans but the sound of the front door opening stops him in his tracks.

I sigh when I smell the overpowering stench of deodorant. Vince wears way too much of the stuff. "Good, you're here."

Vince throws his car keys down on the coffee table, volts over the leather sofa, and lands deftly on his feet next to where Ollie's still sitting at the breakfast bar.

"Miss me?"

I shake my head. "This place needs a good clean up."

Vince raises a light eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Well have fun cleaning."

I cross the length of the kitchen, which is only separated from the rest of the open planned flat by a row of cabinets, in record time. I reach Vince just as he's about to crash down on the sofa.

"Oh no you don't," I say, grabbing his hoody and pulling him backwards.

He tries to fight me but I'm a good head taller so I can easily push him off of me when he lunges at my chest.

"Don't bother," I say. "You're helping us clean whether you like it or not."

Vince smirks before readjusting his jacket so it's not bunched up around his neck. "You suddenly turned into some neat freak?"

I fold my arms defensively. "No, but this is your home too. We've all got to clean."

"Why?"

I glance at Ollie to see him flicking through a paper. I recognise the front page and realise it's at least a week old. When did we get so darn slobbish?

"Because," I start, walking back around to the sink. I roll up the sleeves of my dark green shirt before frowning. "Tanya's coming and she's bringing some of her people."

I hear the rustle of paper and turn to see Ollie's wide eyed expression. "As in the people that pay for all this?"

I nod, holding back a grimace. This place was brand new when we moved in six months ago, and now. Now it looks like a squat.

"Sugar me," Ollie says, breathing out sharply. "We better get our asses in gear."