Read Online Gifted and Talented by Wendy Holden - Free Book Online Page B

argument,’ he added. He had gathered the papers up and stood looking regretfully down at the muddied knees of his cords and the scuff marks on the front of his suede desert boots. Professor Green, he knew, would not be impressed.
    Would she sack him? Gillian had made it known already that she wanted someone younger, sexier and above all better known to do the appearances on In Our Time that David had come to regard over the years as his own. As his mirror confirmed on a daily basis, he had a good face for radio. And he had always got along well with Melvyn Bragg.
    He looked speculatively at the youth before him. He was clean, fair and pleasant looking, but seemed anxious. He wore a T-shirt that said, ‘I Am The Antichrist’. The anarchic spirit of this appealed immediately to David, who felt that too many of today’s students were hopelessly conservative. ‘How very interesting; I’ve always wanted to meet you,’ he said, feeling skittish despite everything.
    Olly was nonplussed. ‘Sorry?’
    ‘The T-shirt,’ David explained, smiling. ‘I’ve read about you in a variety of texts, of course: Paradise Lost and so on. But it’s fascinating to meet the devil in the flesh.’
    Olly felt as if he were going mad. After everything that had happened – and everything that had not – a surreal conversation with an obviously deranged don felt like yet another last straw. ‘I’m not the Antichrist,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘I bought this T-shirt as a joke. I know it’s not very funny. I’m actually a failed-actor-failed-writer-failed-journalist former student who’s just been stood up and I’m going to have to go back home now.’ He stopped, feeling suddenly, mortifyingly, as if he might burst into tears.
    ‘What’s so bad about home?’ asked David, wondering at the note of suppressed despair. Student accommodation now was a lot better than in his day.
    ‘I mean home home. Parents. Old bedroom. Harry Potter books. Dinosaur posters.’ Olly groaned. ‘I can’t afford to do anything else.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ said David. ‘I see what you mean. Ignominious return of the prodigy and all that.’
    ‘You don’t know of a job?’ Olly asked, encouraged by the sympathy. ‘I’ll do anything.’
    David knitted his brows and looked hard at Olly. He had enough experience of students to be able to tell wheat from chaff at a glance. He sensed that this youth had a kind heart; he had helped him with the papers, after all. He also had an open, trustworthy face and looked – T-shirt notwithstanding – reasonably respectable.
    ‘I even tried to get work cleaning, but . . .’ Olly’s voice trailed away as he remembered the fierce Zambian lady and her scathing opinion of writers.
    Cleaning. The word had set the cogs in David’s brain whirring. Actually, he did need a cleaner, rather badly. Neither he nor his wife, Dotty, were any good at housework, which was compromising the plan of letting out their attic room for money. David had, some weeks ago, been to see a contract cleaner: a terrifying African lady who had almost laughed in his face when he said what he could pay for her services. The cost, David worked out, would more than absorb any extra income the room might generate in the first place.
    ‘Cleaner,’ he repeated, thoughtfully. He and Dotty had then tried Plan B, which was to get their teenage daughter on mop-and-bucket duty. But Hero could hardly be prevailed upon to get dressed in the morning, let alone shoulder the housework burden. ‘Well, we do need one, as it happens,’ David said slowly. ‘But it’s rather a big house, one of those old Victorian places down by the station, you know. And it hasn’t been cleaned for some time.’
    ‘I’ll do it for a room,’ Olly burst in excitably. ‘And if you don’t have a room, a cupboard would do,’ he added. ‘Under the stairs, if you like. If it’s good enough for Harry Potter, it’s good enough for me.’
    A weak light was shining into