Read Online Play Dead by Peter Dickinson - Free Book Online

to take Constantin with me.’
    He tousled Deborah’s hair as he rose.
    â€˜No, that won’t work, darling,’ said Mrs Capstone. ‘We need him to …’
    â€˜Can’t be helped. You’ll have to make some other arrangement.’
    â€˜But really … !’
    â€˜I haven’t time to talk about it now.’
    Mrs Capstone kept her voice and face under perfect control. Poppy merely sensed the surge of anger.
    â€˜Well, if you’ve got to have him … In that case … I’ll get my diary and we’ll sort things out in the car. At least then I can drive it home.’
    â€˜If you’re free …’
    His glance at Poppy registered that she was of no interest or importance.
    â€˜I’ll need to go in ten minutes,’ he said, and left. Deborah made no attempt to delay him by clinging, though she looked for a moment as if she was thinking of trying the effect of a scream. Mrs Capstone rose.
    â€˜I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘My husband’s a busy man, and I don’t see as much of him as I’d like.’
    The charm seemed unforced, though no doubt a lifetime in politics would coarsen the act.
    â€˜I quite understand,’ said Poppy. ‘Toby will have a lovely time investigating Deborah’s toys.’
    â€˜She doesn’t have as many as some children. I don’t believe in that, but … oh well, why not, once in a way? Put plenty of towels down in the bathroom, Peony, and they can play with the bidet again.’
    2
    When she got home Poppy found Nell sitting on the steps down to her basement flat, reading a cloth book to Nelson.
    â€˜Hello,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter? Have you been waiting long?’
    â€˜Council are closing the commune. Tonight it’s going to be. They wanted to take us by surprise but we got told.’
    Poppy saw a crammed old rucksack in the corner under the arch made by the steps up to the house above.
    â€˜I’m so glad you took me at my word,’ she said. ‘I was afraid you mightn’t. Come in and we’ll make a pot of tea.’
    â€˜Tea would be great. Thanks a lot, Poppy. It’ll be just two or three days till we can sort something out.’
    â€˜That’s fine.’
    Elias tolerated Toby, but viewed other children with deep distrust. As Poppy opened the kitchen door he rose royally from his cushion on the dresser, purring with the prospect of food, but seeing Nelson he assumed a look of affront and stalked out through the cat-flap. Nelson, a gentle and sweet-natured boy, gave a coo of delight and ran to the glass door into Poppy’s little back garden, pressing his nose close against the pane so that he could watch Elias taking out his resentment on what had once been a lilac but had degenerated into a scratch-pole with occasional sad leaves. Poppy made tea, found biscuits, showed Nell how the cooker worked so that she could warm milk for Nelson, put out half a can of Whiskas for Elias and led the way back to the living-room.
    â€˜I’ll sleep in here,’ she said. ‘I’ve done it before. There’s room for both of you in my bed, and we’ll get more privacy that way.’
    â€˜Oh, no, that isn’t right.’
    They argued about it, but Poppy was firm. Nelson was a quite different character from Toby, who by now would have discovered the gas-tap and the telephone and the TV controls and Poppy’s sewing-machine, which she’d had out three weeks now, meaning to finish shortening the yellow skirt she’d bought for the holiday with Alex that hadn’t happened. Instead Nelson, clutching his tortoise with one arm and sucking from his mug in his other hand, made cautious forays round the sofa, looked under cushions more as if he was checking for booby-traps than hoping to find buried treasure, and at last, deciding that this was a safe, or at least neutral, environment, began a quiet game