Read Online Hit and Run by Doug Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Doug Johnstone
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stared down to the bottom.
Eventually he stepped back and took a deep breath. Everything was normal. The bright sun, the faint drone of traffic in the distance, a thin breeze making the gorse quiver a little.
His phone rang. He pulled it out. Adele.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Fine. You?’
‘I’m stoned. Apparently you had a funny turn at the press conference.’
‘Hangover. It was too hot in there.’
Billy heard a lighter fizz into life, then a breath.
‘I want to see you,’ she said.
Billy looked at the distant hills, which seemed to be closing in on him. ‘Sure. When?’
‘Now. Come to my place.’
Billy looked in the direction of her house. It was mostly shrouded by trees, the grey roof peaking through.
‘The summerhouse again?’
‘No, just come to the house. I’m alone.’
She hung up. Billy looked down to the expanse of grass below. The police were slowly walking towards Queen’s Drive, ready to examine the road in detail.
His neck throbbed. He tried to crick it, but it just hurt more. He pulled out a pack of painkillers, took three and then made his way down the Radical Road.
13
She was sitting on the back patio gazing at nothing when he emerged from the trees at the bottom of the garden. She wore a thin green blouse and tight jeans with a small rip in one knee. She was fingering the frayed edges of the ripped denim and smiled when she saw him.
‘You came over the back wall again.’
‘I wasn’t sure what the protocol was.’
‘You could’ve just rung the front doorbell.’ She looked at her watch, a delicate silver thing. ‘You were quick.’
‘Don’t like to keep a lady waiting.’
Billy rubbed a thumb across the palm of his hand and winced. The pain was muffled, but he was still acutely aware of it.
‘More trouble with the barbed wire?’
He stepped on to the patio. She didn’t get up. There was a stoned glaze in her eyes.
‘It’s fine.’
‘Let me see.’
He thought about it for a moment then held his hands out. She took them in hers.
‘Jesus, what a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.’
‘There’s no need.’ He didn’t pull his hands away.
She got up, still holding his hands, and led him into the kitchen like a little kid. She turned a tap on.
‘Run them under there for a bit.’
She rummaged in a cupboard, then came out with a first-aid kit. The kitchen was huge, a marble island in the middle, heavy copper pans hanging like fruit from a tree, Smeg fridge sulking in the corner, jars of pasta and rice on a shelf next to hardback cookbooks. It was like one of the rooms they always featured in Zoe’s magazine, full of expensive, unattainable shit. Zoe would love this place.
Adele handed him a tea towel. He rubbed at his hands. Small spots of blood appeared on the fabric.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Come here.’ She took his hands. ‘This might sting a little.’
She wiped them with something antiseptic. Her head was down, concentrating on what she was doing. Billy stared at the top of her head, the intricate swirls of hair, the infinite spread of follicles. He could smell her shampoo, coconut and some exotic fruit. He looked down and saw she wasn’t wearing a bra under the blouse. Rounded nipples and full breasts, larger than Zoe’s. His hands stung but he held them steady. She began spreading some kind of cream on the cuts, a slow circular motion across his palms that had him mesmerised.
‘It’s like you’re reading my fortune.’
She smiled and played along, putting on a fake-ominous voice.
‘You will have a long and happy life.’ She traced a crease in his skin with her finger. Billy noticed she wasn’t wearing any jewellery. No rings. Her nails were short but neat, glossy and deep red, same colour as her toes.
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. You will marry a very beautiful woman and have six healthy children. You will become a rich and successful journalist.’
‘Sounds great.’
Adele frowned. ‘But what is
Eventually he stepped back and took a deep breath. Everything was normal. The bright sun, the faint drone of traffic in the distance, a thin breeze making the gorse quiver a little.
His phone rang. He pulled it out. Adele.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Fine. You?’
‘I’m stoned. Apparently you had a funny turn at the press conference.’
‘Hangover. It was too hot in there.’
Billy heard a lighter fizz into life, then a breath.
‘I want to see you,’ she said.
Billy looked at the distant hills, which seemed to be closing in on him. ‘Sure. When?’
‘Now. Come to my place.’
Billy looked in the direction of her house. It was mostly shrouded by trees, the grey roof peaking through.
‘The summerhouse again?’
‘No, just come to the house. I’m alone.’
She hung up. Billy looked down to the expanse of grass below. The police were slowly walking towards Queen’s Drive, ready to examine the road in detail.
His neck throbbed. He tried to crick it, but it just hurt more. He pulled out a pack of painkillers, took three and then made his way down the Radical Road.
13
She was sitting on the back patio gazing at nothing when he emerged from the trees at the bottom of the garden. She wore a thin green blouse and tight jeans with a small rip in one knee. She was fingering the frayed edges of the ripped denim and smiled when she saw him.
‘You came over the back wall again.’
‘I wasn’t sure what the protocol was.’
‘You could’ve just rung the front doorbell.’ She looked at her watch, a delicate silver thing. ‘You were quick.’
‘Don’t like to keep a lady waiting.’
Billy rubbed a thumb across the palm of his hand and winced. The pain was muffled, but he was still acutely aware of it.
‘More trouble with the barbed wire?’
He stepped on to the patio. She didn’t get up. There was a stoned glaze in her eyes.
‘It’s fine.’
‘Let me see.’
He thought about it for a moment then held his hands out. She took them in hers.
‘Jesus, what a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.’
‘There’s no need.’ He didn’t pull his hands away.
She got up, still holding his hands, and led him into the kitchen like a little kid. She turned a tap on.
‘Run them under there for a bit.’
She rummaged in a cupboard, then came out with a first-aid kit. The kitchen was huge, a marble island in the middle, heavy copper pans hanging like fruit from a tree, Smeg fridge sulking in the corner, jars of pasta and rice on a shelf next to hardback cookbooks. It was like one of the rooms they always featured in Zoe’s magazine, full of expensive, unattainable shit. Zoe would love this place.
Adele handed him a tea towel. He rubbed at his hands. Small spots of blood appeared on the fabric.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Come here.’ She took his hands. ‘This might sting a little.’
She wiped them with something antiseptic. Her head was down, concentrating on what she was doing. Billy stared at the top of her head, the intricate swirls of hair, the infinite spread of follicles. He could smell her shampoo, coconut and some exotic fruit. He looked down and saw she wasn’t wearing a bra under the blouse. Rounded nipples and full breasts, larger than Zoe’s. His hands stung but he held them steady. She began spreading some kind of cream on the cuts, a slow circular motion across his palms that had him mesmerised.
‘It’s like you’re reading my fortune.’
She smiled and played along, putting on a fake-ominous voice.
‘You will have a long and happy life.’ She traced a crease in his skin with her finger. Billy noticed she wasn’t wearing any jewellery. No rings. Her nails were short but neat, glossy and deep red, same colour as her toes.
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. You will marry a very beautiful woman and have six healthy children. You will become a rich and successful journalist.’
‘Sounds great.’
Adele frowned. ‘But what is
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