Read Online A is for Angelica by Iain Broome - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Iain Broome
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okay? First you try and hit me over the head with a snooker cue, and now you’re talking gibberish.’
‘It’s a billiard cue. Was a billiard cue.’
‘I don’t care what it is. Tell me how you are.’
‘I’m okay.’ She looks at me, puts her hands on her hips. I think she’s going to swear again. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m okay and I’m leaving. Tell Georgina, I’m glad she’s feeling better.’
‘I will.’
‘And Gordon?’
‘Yes, Judy?’
‘I suggest you visit the surgery. I think you need to see someone. I know it’s not been easy.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going home.’
‘That’s the back garden.’
‘I’ll climb over the wall and into Mrs Tyson’s garden. It’s quicker.’
‘Mrs Tyson?’
‘She lives behind you. She’s ninety-five next month. She’ll never know I was there.’ Judy walks away from me. She gets halfway down the garden and turns around.
‘Gordon, don’t tell anyone I swore.’
‘Twice.’
‘Don’t tell them I swore at all.’
She hitches her skirt up and tucks it into what looks like a pair of red and white striped football socks. Then, she puts one foot in the middle of the wall, grabs one of the coping stones and
hauls herself into Mrs Tyson’s rhododendron bush. She shouts ‘Bollocks’ at the top of her voice. I close the door and pick up the other half of the cue. It’s the first time
I’ve used it since Georgina first got ill. I throw it straight in the bin. I walk back upstairs to the spare room and look through the window. The balloons are gone. So is the car. I wait for
over an hour. It doesn’t reappear and I need the toilet. I walk past Georgina’s room and look through the gap in the door. Kipling’s with her. He’s managed to squeeze his
head between the mattress and her armpit. His ribs are moving up and down as he sleeps. It looks like she’s cuddling him, but her eyelids are still. She has no idea that he’s there.
Heroes
Kipling is eighty-five dog years old. A brown and white Springer spaniel with large floppy ears, like a pair of socks draped over his head. He arrived just two days before
Georgina told me she wanted us to stop trying for children. It never felt like a coincidence. We’d wanted children for so many years. I’d make charts and graphs and Georgina would
attach them to the fridge with magnets. We called them our baby papers. She kept me informed and I kept them up to date. On the day we stopped trying, Kipling climbed onto the kitchen table, leapt
across the room and pulled them off with his teeth. He’d only been with us a week. I collected the torn pieces of paper and put them in the bin. We never spoke about children again. We had
Kipling. That’s all that mattered. He would have to do.
I remember the day Georgina brought him home. I arrived back from work one day to find him sat in my chair, drinking from my favourite mug.
‘Look what I’ve found,’ she said.
‘That’s my best mug.’
‘Isn’t he lovely?’
‘Why did you have to use my mug?’
‘Shut up, Gordon. What shall we call him?’
‘How can you find a dog?’
‘He was tied to a lamppost.’
‘You stole him?’
‘No I didn’t steal him. Someone abandoned him.’
‘Well, we can’t keep him.’
‘Of course we can keep him.’
‘That dog is not staying in this house.’
‘Get yourself a drink and sit down. What shall we call him?’
‘Are you sure that it’s a him? We don’t want hundreds of them.’
I put my hand out to stroke him. He sat bolt upright and looked me straight in the eye. We froze for a second, stared at each other. Then he jumped up and dug his teeth into the sleeve of my
coat. I screamed and snatched my arm away. Kipling came with it. I ran around the room, shaking my limbs to try and get him off. It was impossible. Eventually, I stopped. Broken like a horse.
Kipling hung with his legs in the air and his eyes fixed on mine. I walked to the kitchen and used my free hand to
‘It’s a billiard cue. Was a billiard cue.’
‘I don’t care what it is. Tell me how you are.’
‘I’m okay.’ She looks at me, puts her hands on her hips. I think she’s going to swear again. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m okay and I’m leaving. Tell Georgina, I’m glad she’s feeling better.’
‘I will.’
‘And Gordon?’
‘Yes, Judy?’
‘I suggest you visit the surgery. I think you need to see someone. I know it’s not been easy.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going home.’
‘That’s the back garden.’
‘I’ll climb over the wall and into Mrs Tyson’s garden. It’s quicker.’
‘Mrs Tyson?’
‘She lives behind you. She’s ninety-five next month. She’ll never know I was there.’ Judy walks away from me. She gets halfway down the garden and turns around.
‘Gordon, don’t tell anyone I swore.’
‘Twice.’
‘Don’t tell them I swore at all.’
She hitches her skirt up and tucks it into what looks like a pair of red and white striped football socks. Then, she puts one foot in the middle of the wall, grabs one of the coping stones and
hauls herself into Mrs Tyson’s rhododendron bush. She shouts ‘Bollocks’ at the top of her voice. I close the door and pick up the other half of the cue. It’s the first time
I’ve used it since Georgina first got ill. I throw it straight in the bin. I walk back upstairs to the spare room and look through the window. The balloons are gone. So is the car. I wait for
over an hour. It doesn’t reappear and I need the toilet. I walk past Georgina’s room and look through the gap in the door. Kipling’s with her. He’s managed to squeeze his
head between the mattress and her armpit. His ribs are moving up and down as he sleeps. It looks like she’s cuddling him, but her eyelids are still. She has no idea that he’s there.
Heroes
Kipling is eighty-five dog years old. A brown and white Springer spaniel with large floppy ears, like a pair of socks draped over his head. He arrived just two days before
Georgina told me she wanted us to stop trying for children. It never felt like a coincidence. We’d wanted children for so many years. I’d make charts and graphs and Georgina would
attach them to the fridge with magnets. We called them our baby papers. She kept me informed and I kept them up to date. On the day we stopped trying, Kipling climbed onto the kitchen table, leapt
across the room and pulled them off with his teeth. He’d only been with us a week. I collected the torn pieces of paper and put them in the bin. We never spoke about children again. We had
Kipling. That’s all that mattered. He would have to do.
I remember the day Georgina brought him home. I arrived back from work one day to find him sat in my chair, drinking from my favourite mug.
‘Look what I’ve found,’ she said.
‘That’s my best mug.’
‘Isn’t he lovely?’
‘Why did you have to use my mug?’
‘Shut up, Gordon. What shall we call him?’
‘How can you find a dog?’
‘He was tied to a lamppost.’
‘You stole him?’
‘No I didn’t steal him. Someone abandoned him.’
‘Well, we can’t keep him.’
‘Of course we can keep him.’
‘That dog is not staying in this house.’
‘Get yourself a drink and sit down. What shall we call him?’
‘Are you sure that it’s a him? We don’t want hundreds of them.’
I put my hand out to stroke him. He sat bolt upright and looked me straight in the eye. We froze for a second, stared at each other. Then he jumped up and dug his teeth into the sleeve of my
coat. I screamed and snatched my arm away. Kipling came with it. I ran around the room, shaking my limbs to try and get him off. It was impossible. Eventually, I stopped. Broken like a horse.
Kipling hung with his legs in the air and his eyes fixed on mine. I walked to the kitchen and used my free hand to
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