When the morning came she found herself all covered with dew. A wooden door banged. Footsteps click-clacked towards her. “Jeremy! It’s another bloody squatter,” said a woman. X could smell something sickly – an expensive perfume. The woman was close.
“She’s not a squatter, darling. She’d have to be inside the house to be a squatter. She’s a vagrant,” said a man from a little further away.
“Shoo,” said the woman.
X turned her head in the direction of the voices. The shoes approached – royal blue and gleaming. X reached for the bag, and felt the pain in her right hand, the one that told her what she’d done. Of course the bag was gone. X swore, rolled away from the shoes, got herself into a kneeling position, clambered to her feet and stood up – a giant, bedraggled, black moth.
“Oh God, Jeremy, she’s bleeding on the lawn,” said the woman.
“Come back here, darling. I’m going to call the police,” said the man.
X shrugged. It was no more than she deserved – she’d really f-ed up since the murder. Her eyes dry and gummy with sleep, but the man and the woman looked like the kind she saw in the windows of expensive restaurants in town. It was a nice house. They didn’t deserve this. She watched them retreat behind their mock-thirties front door.
My New House is track 8 on The Fall’s 1985 album, This Nation’s Saving Grace. The album is widely regarded (in the music press) as one of the group’s best. It’s certainly more accessible than a lot of the more recent output and recommended as a way into their uniquely ugly/ beautiful music. You can listen to it here.