Read Online Killing Time by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
Ads: Link
but now he said, “Val, let’s really do it.”’ The animation faded. ‘He meant it an’ all. It’s not fair. He deserved a bit of luck, poor Maurice.’
He’d had his bit of luck, Slider reflected. It’s just that it wasn’t good.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fissure of Men
Busty’s next-door neighbour was torn between the obligatory reluctance to ‘get involved’, and the temptation of being a star, for if she became a witness for the police, she might get herself on the telly. She havered and wavered, but finally the glamour of potential fame overcame her to the point of inviting Hart in for a cup of tea – a courtesy Hart would have dispensed with. The flat smelled of urine, babies and chip fat. Why didn’t humans have those useful nostrils that closed flat, Hart wondered. When her hostess left the room to put on the kettle, Hart sneaked her Amarige out of her handbag and dabbed a bit on her upper lip for protection.
Charmian, was the woman’s name, God only knew why. Charmian Hogg. She sat on the sofa opposite Hart, a pasty female, spots at the corners of her mouth and a crop of blackheads on her cheeks like an aerial view of black cattle grazing across a parched plain. Her hair was dirty, her teeshirt much stained, her short skirt straining into corrugated creases across her belly, her bare legs blotched red and mauve, her feet in broken-down slippers. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out from behind the sofa-cushion and lit one, and a dirty child of about three, in sagging, nappy-bulging shorts, wandered in and climbed up next to her, clutching her arm and staring at Hart as if she were Sigourney Weaver. In another room a baby cried monotonously. In a corner of this one, in a playpen, another child of about eighteen months picked listlessly at the tacky bits of trodden-in food on the carpet, and stared out through the bars with its mouth open.
‘Them next door,’ said Mrs Hogg, ‘I never had nothing to do with ’em. I told the Council, I don’t want the likes of themliving next door to me. Disgusting. Well, I don’t mind blacks,’ she said generously, for Hart’s sake, ‘but that lot—! And him! Filthy, I call it. I mean, I suppose some of ’em can’t help being that way, which you don’t mind when they’re nice, like that actor, what’s his name, he’s very funny, you know the one I mean, the big fat one. But to do it like him next door – just selling himself for money. Just like animals. Not but what he wasn’t polite, always looked smart, and said hello nice as you like when I met him on the stairs or anything. Offered to help me up the stairs with the pushchair once, but I wouldn’t let him anywhere near my Jason – would I, Jase?’ she addressed the odoriferous child beside her, which was now absently exploring its nose with a forefinger, never taking its eyes from Hart’s alien face. ‘You never know what you might catch off someone like that. Riddled with diseases they are – AIDS and that – and I wouldn’t have him touching none of my kids.’
Hart moved further towards the edge of the armchair she was sitting on, which she had a horrible suspicion was damp. ‘So you didn’t know ’em very well?’
‘I never even knew his name until you told me.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘He ain’t here. He’s got his own flat over Fulham. He don’t come here much now. He’s got this girlfriend. Right little slapper
she
is!’
‘All right, tell me what you heard last night,’ Hart said, anxious to get her to the point.
‘Last night?’
‘You said you heard something?’
‘Oh. Yeah. Well, there was a noise. Like someone was having a barney. It woke my Jade up, so I wasn’t best pleased, I can tell you.’
‘Woke your what?’
‘Jade. Over there.’ She indicated the child in the playpen. ‘My little girl.’
Blimey, thought Hart. ‘What time was that?’
‘Oh, middle of the night. I dunno exactly.’
‘After midnight?’
‘Well, maybe not. I didn’t
He’d had his bit of luck, Slider reflected. It’s just that it wasn’t good.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fissure of Men
Busty’s next-door neighbour was torn between the obligatory reluctance to ‘get involved’, and the temptation of being a star, for if she became a witness for the police, she might get herself on the telly. She havered and wavered, but finally the glamour of potential fame overcame her to the point of inviting Hart in for a cup of tea – a courtesy Hart would have dispensed with. The flat smelled of urine, babies and chip fat. Why didn’t humans have those useful nostrils that closed flat, Hart wondered. When her hostess left the room to put on the kettle, Hart sneaked her Amarige out of her handbag and dabbed a bit on her upper lip for protection.
Charmian, was the woman’s name, God only knew why. Charmian Hogg. She sat on the sofa opposite Hart, a pasty female, spots at the corners of her mouth and a crop of blackheads on her cheeks like an aerial view of black cattle grazing across a parched plain. Her hair was dirty, her teeshirt much stained, her short skirt straining into corrugated creases across her belly, her bare legs blotched red and mauve, her feet in broken-down slippers. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out from behind the sofa-cushion and lit one, and a dirty child of about three, in sagging, nappy-bulging shorts, wandered in and climbed up next to her, clutching her arm and staring at Hart as if she were Sigourney Weaver. In another room a baby cried monotonously. In a corner of this one, in a playpen, another child of about eighteen months picked listlessly at the tacky bits of trodden-in food on the carpet, and stared out through the bars with its mouth open.
‘Them next door,’ said Mrs Hogg, ‘I never had nothing to do with ’em. I told the Council, I don’t want the likes of themliving next door to me. Disgusting. Well, I don’t mind blacks,’ she said generously, for Hart’s sake, ‘but that lot—! And him! Filthy, I call it. I mean, I suppose some of ’em can’t help being that way, which you don’t mind when they’re nice, like that actor, what’s his name, he’s very funny, you know the one I mean, the big fat one. But to do it like him next door – just selling himself for money. Just like animals. Not but what he wasn’t polite, always looked smart, and said hello nice as you like when I met him on the stairs or anything. Offered to help me up the stairs with the pushchair once, but I wouldn’t let him anywhere near my Jason – would I, Jase?’ she addressed the odoriferous child beside her, which was now absently exploring its nose with a forefinger, never taking its eyes from Hart’s alien face. ‘You never know what you might catch off someone like that. Riddled with diseases they are – AIDS and that – and I wouldn’t have him touching none of my kids.’
Hart moved further towards the edge of the armchair she was sitting on, which she had a horrible suspicion was damp. ‘So you didn’t know ’em very well?’
‘I never even knew his name until you told me.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘He ain’t here. He’s got his own flat over Fulham. He don’t come here much now. He’s got this girlfriend. Right little slapper
she
is!’
‘All right, tell me what you heard last night,’ Hart said, anxious to get her to the point.
‘Last night?’
‘You said you heard something?’
‘Oh. Yeah. Well, there was a noise. Like someone was having a barney. It woke my Jade up, so I wasn’t best pleased, I can tell you.’
‘Woke your what?’
‘Jade. Over there.’ She indicated the child in the playpen. ‘My little girl.’
Blimey, thought Hart. ‘What time was that?’
‘Oh, middle of the night. I dunno exactly.’
‘After midnight?’
‘Well, maybe not. I didn’t
Similar Books
