Read Online First Aid by Janet Davey - Free Book Online

closed. She reached into the bottom of her bag for her keys. As she put the key in the lock she pressed her face to the glass in the door. The street lamp across the road gave a queasy light, revealing the forms of the items of furniture and the stacked-up boxes, the glints of the glass and the brass. She went in.
    The shop felt different at this time of night. Enclosed and silent – somehow more inland. By day, there was a sense of the sea not far away; seagulls and a seaweedy kick to the draught through the open door, but this had vanished. The smell was familiar, but concentrated – musty, like stale tea spiked with alcohol. Breathing it in steadied her. She crossed the floor, careful not to bump into anything, aware of moving between patches of shadow and half-light, and nervous that someone passing might see her. There was the blind at the window which was made of shiny black-out stuff – it squeaked if you tried to move it. She wouldn’t make the effort. It was better to be able to see. She went across to the table where Trevor dumped the books when he brought them in from the window ledge at the end of the day. He never had anything she wanted to read. She pulled one of the books out and took it to the front where she could see by the street lamp. She turned the pages of dense type until she reached a passage of conversation. No one could ever have talked like that, not even Herbert and Ivy, or whatever they were called. She glanced at the date at the front. They’d be dead by now anyway, so they were doubly dead, never having lived.
    She knew her way round. Somewhere among the clutter would be a cushion or two, maybe a rug. Under Lois’s management, Ella would have found enough props for a stage-set bedtime – chaise longue, white lace-trimmed night-dress, silver candle holder – but that was all over. She found an alarm clock in the under-a-pound box and set it for six o’clock; hours earlier than Trevor would saunter down the stairs. She moved a typewriter out of the way, spread out a blanket made of knitted squares on a section of floor furthest from the window and placed a cushion at one end. Having taken off her shoes, she lay down, stretched out on her back and looked up. Directly above her was a stain the size of a man’s hand, beginning to flake now and still unpainted – even in the poor light, it was visible. It had appeared at the beginning of March. Her mother would remember the date.
    At that time, she and Jo had been getting on not too badly. They annoyed each other but they were still connected. Jo expected her to do things that her friends didn’t have to do, such as look after Annie or help in the shop. She didn’t mind doing them but, since they were favours, she resented being called unreliable when they didn’t quite work out as planned. On that particular Saturday, for example, she had promised to go and open up the shop. The weather was foul. Her room was on the side of the house that was squashed against taller buildings, so, although the curtains dipped at the top because the rail was bent, the daylight hardly changed the look of things if it was a dull day. But apparently it was morning. Someone was banging and banging on her door. Rob was shouting, saying she ought to get up. Who says so, she shouted back. Mum, he said. Why can’t she tell me herself, she said. She’s got a headache, he said. So have I, she said. Lazy cow, he said. She’s a lazy cow, she said. It was the usual sort of argument. Jo would have got the gist of it too. Ella willed herself to get out of bed, switch the radio on, wash her face in the bathroom. Eventually she put on some clothes and went into the kitchen. Annie was at the table eating biscuits. Ella felt sorry for her, sitting there on her own. She scooped her up and took her with her to Lois Lucas & Son.
    She and Annie had hardly been there half an hour when Jo showed up. She was out of breath from