Read Online The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) by Henriette Gyland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henriette Gyland
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jeans to his brown hair and blue eyes, and instantly she felt her cheeks go hot.
It was the annoying stall-holder with the fancy goatee.
‘Jason,’ said Fay, ‘this is Helen. Potential new house mate.’
Jason managed to hide his surprise thanks to years of keeping his thoughts to himself. It was the pretty girl from the market, and this time she was smiling. Or rather she had been until she recognised him. He knew what she’d been up to, or rather what he’d stopped her doing, and she obviously knew that he knew.
He decided to make light of it. ‘Hi, there. Finished your shopping, then?’
It was entirely the wrong thing to say, and he could have kicked himself for his big, stupid mouth. She flinched visibly as if he’d slapped her.
Jason, you complete shit .
Without realising it, Charlie came to his rescue. ‘Have you met before?’
‘I saw her at the market. Looking at Winston’s fabrics, I think?’ Jason sought her eyes, read the gratitude in them. He’d seen that same look in other people before: friendless, exposed, remorseful, yet defiant at the same time. In recent probationers. He wondered if she’d recently been to prison and what had made her come here. Then he wondered what her crime was, and thought from the haunted look in her eyes it was probably something more than theft. Something momentous and life-changing.
Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t want to be reminded of the one she’d almost committed half an hour ago.
‘I was just browsing,’ she explained, falteringly, then her confidence seemed to return. ‘I haven’t been to Shepherd’s Bush in ages, so it was a bit full-on. You run a stall there, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I sell vinyl and CDs. Collectors’ items. Recordings which are difficult to get hold of, that sort of thing. You should come and have a look some time.’
‘Maybe I will.’
She met his stare, and Jason thought perhaps her earlier blip wasn’t a relapse at all and he was losing his ability to read other people. He hoped not.
‘Well, you’d better come and see the room,’ he said. ‘It isn’t much but it’s clean and we’ve given it a fresh coat of paint.’
He spoke in the clipped tones he inadvertently returned to whenever he was on thin ice, and which he knew flagged up visions of boarding school and top universities in his listeners, but he couldn’t help it. He wondered what she made of it, if she found it hard to equate with a person who manned a market stall and ran a shared house for apparent losers. It annoyed him that he should care about her opinion but he did.
As soon as the kitchen door had swung shut behind them, she touched him lightly on the arm. Jason felt as if someone had tasered him and was grateful for the dim lighting in the hallway.
‘Listen, about earlier, I wasn’t planning to, well, you know, take that woman’s wallet,’ she said.
‘That’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself.’
‘You seemed to think I was.’
He shook his head. ‘My mistake. I just didn’t want you to get in trouble, that’s all. You looked like you’d lost your way a little, if that makes any sense.’
‘Like I said, I hadn’t been to the Market in a while.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
He led her up the wide stairs to the first floor, running his hand along the dado rail as he often did. The paint on it was chipped and uneven where it had been painted over countless times, but beneath it the wood was reassuringly solid. The stairs also had a dependable feel to them despite the threadbare carpet, and the water stains on the wallpaper, which appeared here and there, were bone dry because the problem with dampness had been superficial. It was one of the things he loved about this house, that it was solid. Whatever else might happen in life, this old relic would still stand.
Glancing over his shoulder, he was amused to see the new girl do the same, tracing her fingers where his had been.
On the first floor he opened the
It was the annoying stall-holder with the fancy goatee.
‘Jason,’ said Fay, ‘this is Helen. Potential new house mate.’
Jason managed to hide his surprise thanks to years of keeping his thoughts to himself. It was the pretty girl from the market, and this time she was smiling. Or rather she had been until she recognised him. He knew what she’d been up to, or rather what he’d stopped her doing, and she obviously knew that he knew.
He decided to make light of it. ‘Hi, there. Finished your shopping, then?’
It was entirely the wrong thing to say, and he could have kicked himself for his big, stupid mouth. She flinched visibly as if he’d slapped her.
Jason, you complete shit .
Without realising it, Charlie came to his rescue. ‘Have you met before?’
‘I saw her at the market. Looking at Winston’s fabrics, I think?’ Jason sought her eyes, read the gratitude in them. He’d seen that same look in other people before: friendless, exposed, remorseful, yet defiant at the same time. In recent probationers. He wondered if she’d recently been to prison and what had made her come here. Then he wondered what her crime was, and thought from the haunted look in her eyes it was probably something more than theft. Something momentous and life-changing.
Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t want to be reminded of the one she’d almost committed half an hour ago.
‘I was just browsing,’ she explained, falteringly, then her confidence seemed to return. ‘I haven’t been to Shepherd’s Bush in ages, so it was a bit full-on. You run a stall there, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I sell vinyl and CDs. Collectors’ items. Recordings which are difficult to get hold of, that sort of thing. You should come and have a look some time.’
‘Maybe I will.’
She met his stare, and Jason thought perhaps her earlier blip wasn’t a relapse at all and he was losing his ability to read other people. He hoped not.
‘Well, you’d better come and see the room,’ he said. ‘It isn’t much but it’s clean and we’ve given it a fresh coat of paint.’
He spoke in the clipped tones he inadvertently returned to whenever he was on thin ice, and which he knew flagged up visions of boarding school and top universities in his listeners, but he couldn’t help it. He wondered what she made of it, if she found it hard to equate with a person who manned a market stall and ran a shared house for apparent losers. It annoyed him that he should care about her opinion but he did.
As soon as the kitchen door had swung shut behind them, she touched him lightly on the arm. Jason felt as if someone had tasered him and was grateful for the dim lighting in the hallway.
‘Listen, about earlier, I wasn’t planning to, well, you know, take that woman’s wallet,’ she said.
‘That’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself.’
‘You seemed to think I was.’
He shook his head. ‘My mistake. I just didn’t want you to get in trouble, that’s all. You looked like you’d lost your way a little, if that makes any sense.’
‘Like I said, I hadn’t been to the Market in a while.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
He led her up the wide stairs to the first floor, running his hand along the dado rail as he often did. The paint on it was chipped and uneven where it had been painted over countless times, but beneath it the wood was reassuringly solid. The stairs also had a dependable feel to them despite the threadbare carpet, and the water stains on the wallpaper, which appeared here and there, were bone dry because the problem with dampness had been superficial. It was one of the things he loved about this house, that it was solid. Whatever else might happen in life, this old relic would still stand.
Glancing over his shoulder, he was amused to see the new girl do the same, tracing her fingers where his had been.
On the first floor he opened the
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