Read Online A Hidden Life by Adèle Geras - Free Book Online Page B

of rubbish out there, Lou knew, and most of it seemed to be given to her to read and comment on. It was partly the knowledge that (given half a chance) she could produce something so much better than what she was reading for Harry that kept her own scriptwriting dreams alive. Ever since she’d realized that movies were written down first, like plays, she’d wanted to be the person who did work like that. She filled exercise book after exercise book all the way through her childhood, making up what she called film-words.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t sleep well last night. You quite often don’t, with a little kid in the house. And I’ve got to go down to my parents tomorrow. They’re having a family gathering to discuss my grandmother’s will.’ Lou pushed the hankie into her handbag.
    â€˜Was she wealthy?’
    Lou hesitated. Should she say anything? Wasn’t stuff like this private? She hardly knew Harry, even though he was the one who’d hired her. They’d had long chats about work and got on well. He often made her laugh and had always been kind to her, but they’d never talked about anything personal. She didn’t even know if he had a girlfriend. She’d never seen any sign of one, but why should she have?
    â€˜Yes, she was,’ Lou began and before she could stop herself, she found the whole story pouring out of her, as though Harry had unplugged something. She could feel, as the words came out of her mouth in a rush, relief at being able to speak about everything: stuff she couldn’t tell members of her family because they were too close. Thoughts she hadn’t articulated properly before. And Harry was listening carefully. He wasn’t letting it wash over him, he was paying attention. The brown gaze fell on her and remained fixed on her and she went on telling him more and more. Confessing her fears and her anger and the resentment and anguish that made her do things like burst into tears in the office, which was not grown-up behaviour by any stretch of the imagination.
    Lou only stopped talking when Jeanette knocked and brought in the coffees. She was grateful for the thought, but the first mouthful she took of the Chelsea bun tasted like sweet cardboard in her mouth.
    â€˜So now what happens?’ Harry seemed to be enjoying his bun.
    â€˜Well …’ Lou was coming to the end of the story. ‘We’ll all have to discuss it over a meal, I expect. My father will be a kind of chairman. My siblings will bicker. Nothing will get decided. In the end, Constance’s will is perfectly valid and we’ve just got to live with it.’
    â€˜Bloody hell, Lou, that’s tough. Wouldn’t your sister and brother help you out? Or your dad?’
    â€˜He will. He’ll try and give me his share and I’m not going to take it. He’ll say, it’s going to be mine and Poppy’s when he dies and why shouldn’t I have it now.’
    â€˜Why shouldn’t you? If he and your mum are okay and you need the dosh?’
    Lou shook her head. ‘They do enough. Poppy’s nursery – I couldn’t afford that – and decorating, and everything in the flat. My TV. The washing machine. I rely on them.’
    â€˜Don’t forget the royal fees we pay you.’ Harry smiled.
    â€˜How could I possibly!’
    â€˜Your grandad’s books. What are they like?’
    â€˜Old-fashioned. They look as if they might be good in a stodgy kind of way. He used to read bits of one of them out to me when I was about ten or so. Must read them all again. When I can stop being useless and crying at inconvenient moments.’
    â€˜You’re allowed. Please feel free to come and borrow my hankie any time you like. Really.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t we do
Deathbeasts
now?’
    â€˜I’ve got to go. It can wait. It’s not urgent.’
    â€˜God, I’ve held you up. I’m sorry,