Read Online Blighted Land: Book two of the Northumbrian Western Series (Northumbrian Westerns 2) by Ian Chapman - Free Book Online

around in the damp air as the waves thudded on the harbour wall. Tried to make sense of it all.  
    At lunchtime I met Sophie, like I had done every Friday for the last few months. I wasn’t in the mood but she’d kick up a stink if I didn’t show up. It was the usual venue, the Cafe Italia, a fake continental place that was as shit as all the other cafés but more expensive. She was waiting when I arrived, sitting in the corner where she always sat wearing a pink jumper, holding a menu, not that she needed it.
    She stood up when I arrived, kissed me on the cheek and pointed out that I was late, as usual.  
    She thrust a menu at me, this stained piece of card with uneven writing on it. I didn’t even bother to read it seeing as I knew it all. Knew what I’d have.  
    ‘How are you?’ I said.
    ‘Fine, as if you care.’
    ‘Work all right?’
    She shrugged then threw down the menu. ‘What’s going on Trenty?’
    ‘What do you mean?’ I wondered if she’d seen Becky parked round at my place, seen us chatting.
    ‘Your head’s not here! You’re off with the fairies.’
    ‘Right.’
    The waiter came over, the usual lad, shaven headed, stained apron. ‘What you havin?’ he said.
    ‘Stew,’ I said. He wrote it down, didn’t reply.
    Sophie tilted her head back, like she always did before saying something ridiculous. ‘Well, I'd like the spaghetti carbonara.’
    ‘Out of bacon,’ said the lad.
    She grunted. ‘Give me the fucking bolognese.’
    The lad left.
    ‘So,’ she said, leaning towards me. ‘What's going on?’  
    ‘Going on?’
    ‘Oh, Trent. Tell me about work. What you’ve been up to?’
    ‘We’re busy. Got a lot of sorting out to do.’
    ‘Oh?’  
    ‘I’ve been asked to lead some of it. To do with The Incident.’
    ‘Oh?’ She sat up at this. ‘That's good. If you're doing that, something so important, they must think that you have prospects. That you’re going somewhere. That is good.’ She grinned at this, gave me a big smile. ‘Oh, Trenty, I didn't know you'd taken on extra responsibilities.’ Her hand gripped mine, held it far too tightly.  
    ‘It’s not something I asked for…’ She’d not been interested the other day. I hadn’t expected her to make such a fuss.
    She clapped her hands, a high clap up in the air. ‘This will make such a difference. We’ll be able to plan ahead, think about where we are going —’
    ‘Hang on —’
    ‘I knew it would all come together. I knew…’ And so she went on, about us and how things were going to be great. The two of us together. Forever.
    Our food arrived, the two plates slapped in front of us. Mine the usual grey slop that they called stew. Sophie’s reddish-brown with lumps in it. Nothing like what she’d ordered. Usually she complained and pointed out what the food was meant to look like, quoting her beloved cook books. This time she just tucked in, ate and talked. Said more about her plans for us in the future.
    I picked on with mine and said a few words, but that was it.  
    By the time we came to the end of the meal she’d sorted out the rest of our lives and I’d hardly said anything.  
    ‘I have to go,’ I said standing up, throwing some cash on the table.  
    ‘Oh, is it time to get back?’  
    I shrugged. Unlike most places Faeston had clocks that worked so being five or ten minutes late did matter. But this was more about getting away from Sophie with her mindless crap.  
    She leapt up and grabbed hold of me, wrapping me in a tight embrace, kissing me and muttering on.  
    I slid free and was off and out, her still at my side, following me along Back Lane. The mist had cleared. Men hung round the workshops that made tackle and ropes, mingling with shoppers who came from the stalls along the North Quay carrying lumps of meat and filthy vegetables. Amongst them drunks spilled out of the George and Dragon, getting air or looking for a fight.
    Sophie yanked at my arm when we came to her shop.