Read Online The Bottle Factory Outing by Beryl Bainbridge - Free Book Online

the stairs. Brenda felt silly holding out the book to the inspector, who was pretending to be Stanley’s mother.
     She had to hit him quite hard on the chest and bite her lip in case she smiled. They wanted to know how they could contact
     Stanley and where he would be at this moment.
    ‘At the Little Legion,’ she said. ‘But you better not ring there. He wouldn’t like it.’
    Freda shouted interferingly: ‘Good God, he ought to be told. It was a gun she carried, you know, not a bunch of flowers.’
    ‘It wasn’t a gun,’ muttered Brenda, ‘it was an air pistol,’ though she didn’t know if it made any difference.
    Freda told the sergeant that Brenda was separated from her husband. ‘He gave her a very rough time in my opinion.’
    ‘Quite so,’ said the sergeant, looking at her and at Patrick still clad in the blue dressing-gown.
    There was a knock at the door. The two young nurses from the ground floor, little white caps pinned to the frizzed nests of
     their hair, wanted to know if they could be of assistance.
    ‘It’s quite all right,’ Freda told them frostily. ‘It’s just a small family party.’ And down clumped the two girls in their
     crackling aprons and sensible shoes, desperate at being excluded from the excitement.
    The police inspector asked Brenda finally if she wanted to make a charge.
    ‘Definitely we do,’ asserted Freda, and Brenda shook her head and said No, she didn’t want to, thank you. Whatever would her
     mother say if she did and it got into the papers?
    Freda didn’t even bother to show Vittorio to the front door. She was tired now and grumpy. ‘Get to bed,’ she ordered Brenda,
     and she jumped between the sheets still in her negligée.
    Brenda lay in the darkness unprotected by the bolster and the row of books. She had tried to re-erect the barrier, but Freda
     cursed and told her to bloody well stop messing about.
    ‘He didn’t make it,’ said Freda, mouth crushed against the pillow. ‘He couldn’t get into the loo.’
    ‘Ah, well—’ began Brenda, and thought better of it.
    ‘I wonder if those were Maria’s men in uniform?’ mused Freda.
    ‘What men?’
    ‘You know – Maria’s men – in my cup.’
    ‘They weren’t on horseback.’
    ‘No,’ said Freda. ‘You’re right. What the hell was that Patrick doing running round the house dressed like that?’
    ‘He was just passing and I didn’t like to say I was going out.’
    ‘You’re barmy. What you see in him I don’t know.’
    ‘I don’t see anything,’ protested Brenda. ‘He was just mending the toilet.’
    ‘Half-naked?’ said Freda. ‘You must be mad.’
    When she closed her eyes the bed whirled round andround. She had to force herself to concentrate on the outline of the window pane.
    Brenda said: ‘I don’t think she meant any harm. She was just trying it on.’
    ‘You need help,’ murmured Freda. ‘You’re a victim. I’ve told you before.’ In the light of the street lamp the room was glamorous
     and bathed in silver. The wooden foot of the bed glowed like genuine mahogany. ‘Isn’t it nice?’ she said.
    ‘Stanley’s mother must be furious she missed me. She always hated being thwarted.’
    Brenda wore a small gratified smile. She understood perfectly why Mrs Haddon had wanted to do her damage. Inside her own brain
     she had on numerous occasions perpetrated acts of brutality against friends and enemies alike.
    ‘She needs putting away,’ said Freda, beginning to fall into sleep. ‘You all need putting away.’

4
    For several days Freda was not herself. She suffered outbursts of rage followed by long periods of silence. The rages, which
     were habitual, did not disturb Brenda as much as the moments of moody reflection; she could not bear to witness her friend
     slumped on her beer crate or in the armchair by the gas fire, deaf to all overtures. It was unnerving to live with. Freda
     was so fond of verbalising her emotions. She never brooded. Pain felt, or insults