Read Online The Death of the Elver Man by Jennie Finch - Free Book Online Page A

down the stairs to the office, her head humming in white-hot fury at Garry’s latest scathing estimate of her worth as a probation officer, she bounced off Paul Malcolm labouring up to her office.
    ‘Oh, gosh, sorry Alex,’ he said, leaning back against the wall. ‘Ah, let me catch my breath.’
    Alex stepped back, stumbling as her foot caught the riser behind her but managed to grab the rail in time.
    ‘No Paul, really, it was my fault,’ she said, trying to slip past him around the corner but Paul was not to be deterred.
    ‘Well, now I’ve got you I wonder if I might have a quick word about Brian.’
     
    It was late by the time she escaped Paul’s well-intentioned attempts to assist Brian, and Alex still had to finish her work for the court later in the week. She sat at her desk strugglingto make sense of her notes, desperately trying to force them into something the magistrates (and more importantly Lauren ) might recognize as a competent social enquiry report. Finally she abandoned the whole mess as the light faded from the sky outside her window. The car park was empty and she climbed into her car, cursing the parking restrictions on her road that forced her to drive in each day just to avoid a ticket. The memory of her interview with Garry and her grovelling assurance she was on her way to see the mysterious client mocked her as, teeth grinding in frustration, she turned the ignition key. Flinging the Citroën into reverse she swooped round the empty space, turning towards the exit when she spotted a movement in the rear-view mirror. She slammed on her brakes and tried to swerve, an impossible manoeuvre when going backwards. The heavy car slid sideways, skidding 180 degrees and came to rest in the midst of the dustbins . Shaken but unhurt she scrambled out and hurried round the vehicle. A skinny figure in ragged jeans and a floppy T-shirt was sprawled amidst the scattered rubbish. His feet, she noticed, were bare and filthy. No matter how hard they tried no-one could get Simon the Lorry Boy to wear shoes.
    ‘Bloody hell! Are you hurt?’ She reached out a hand but Simon shook himself, scattering bits of shredded paper and the contents of ashtrays around him.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘The warning sensor doesn’t work on my truck. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed but I can’t afford it. You wouldn’t have heard me coming.’ He mimed turning the ignition, looked over his shoulder and began to drive his imaginary lorry out of the bin store making soft engine noises as he went.
    ‘Don’t tell my Boss, will you? I could be fired for that,’ he said anxiously as he shunted what appeared to be a fantasy trailer back and forth before lining himself up with the gate. Then with a wave of his hand he was gone, out onto the road to ‘drive’ the three miles home. Alex opened her mouth to call after him but it was too late, and, anyway, Simon couldn’t hear her above the noise of his engine. She hoped hewould stick to the pavements on the way out to Petherton. Simon was a familiar figure to the locals, who tended to look out for him, but there were already a lot of tourists around, strangers who hooted and swore as they swerved around the barefoot boy. Clambering back into her car she turned the key and knew at once something was wrong. The suspension on the driver’s side was fine but the other side remained firmly enmeshed in the bins. Several expensive looking warning lights came on and stayed on until she removed the key. She clambered out and rested her head wearily on the roof of the car, closing her eyes as she wondered how she’d ended up here, in this strange place amongst these strange people.
     
    She managed to get the car back into her parking space with the help of Bert, the janitor, and together they tidied up the worst of the rubbish. Bert flipped the most damaged bins around to hide the dents and nodded in approval at their handiwork.
    ‘You just get off now,’ he said. ‘You look