Read Online Mister Creecher by Chris Priestley - Free Book Online Page B

will not get annoyed,’ said Creecher. ‘I promise.’
    Billy took a deep breath.
    ‘Look, there’s nothing wrong with the clothes,’ he said. ‘It’s more the way you wear them.’
    Creecher frowned.
    ‘I do not understand.’
    Billy scratched his chin and tried to think of the best way to word what he was about to say.
    ‘You need to have a bit more style about you,’ he said. ‘Look at you. You standing there. You’re so . . . stiff.’
    ‘Stiff?’ said Creecher.
    ‘Yeah, like you was about to read a sermon or something.’
    Creecher looked baffled.
    ‘If I was your size, I’d really . . . I’d . . . Well, I wouldn’t stand like a trooper on parade anyway. Bend your neck a bit. Get your head lower. Look out from under your eyebrows. Stick out your jaw like you’re daring someone to thump it. Let your arms swing,’ said Billy, all the while miming these words with growing enthusiasm.
    ‘And when you walk, you should roll,’ he added. ‘Like you’re walking along a ship in a stormy sea. Let that coat flap around like a sail. You need a big walk to go with your size: big, slow steps, like you was wading through mud. You ain’t in no hurry cos you ain’t afraid of nobody. You get what I’m saying?’
    Creecher nodded and, taking a deep breath, lowered his head, stuck out his jaw and set off down the alleyway with a big loping stride, arms swinging, coat flapping.
    Billy collapsed to the floor, howling with laughter. Creecher slowly came to a halt and turned to face him, glowering from under his eyebrows. It was a little while before Billy could get to his feet and speak.
    ‘That is the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time,’ he said between pants, holding his stomach as if winded.
    ‘But you told me –’
    ‘I know,’ said Billy, patting him on the back. ‘I know I did. You just need a bit more practice, that’s all. I’m sorry I laughed. Really.’
    Creecher nodded.
    ‘Then I would very much appreciate it if you would consider recapitulating for me.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Show me again,’ said Creecher.
    ‘Oh, right,’ said Billy. ‘We really ought to do something about the way you talk as well.’
    Creecher frowned.
    ‘All right, all right,’ said Billy. ‘One thing at a time.’
    Billy’s swaggering lessons continued for the next twenty minutes, the first five of which were mainly taken up with Billy’s efforts to resist laughing.
    Slowly, though, the giant seemed to grasp the coordination necessary and Billy sent him away to one end of the alley and told him to strut his way back.
    Creecher disappeared into the darkness and there was a long pause. Then all at once the giant emerged into the light, head down, eyes glinting from under his furrowed brow, his coat sweeping back and forth as he took long rolling strides towards Billy.
    ‘Good,’ said Billy, his mouth a little dry. ‘That was good.’
    ‘Shall I try once more?’ asked Creecher.
    ‘No,’ said Billy, putting his hat on and walking towards the light at the alley’s end. ‘I think you’ve got the idea.’

CHAPTER XII.
    The cloud that for months had covered the city like a filthy blanket momentarily developed a ragged tear and a beam of light poured through, hitting the soot-blackened dome of St Paul’s and polishing the golden cross at its summit. It gleamed like a crucifix on a priest’s black cassock.
    The effect was startling, if short-lived, and even Billy, who was normally immune to the architectural delights of London, joined the tourists in looking up in wonder.
    For a few seconds it was as if the whole of the City stopped to watch, but as soon as the clouds rolled back and the light faded, each one of the crowd – lawyer, con man, banker, thief – went back to their allotted tasks.
    Billy, too, returned to his employment. Frankenstein and Clerval were sightseeing in the City and Billy was in slow but dogged pursuit. Billy had already accompanied the men on a visit to the docks, where Clerval