Read Online The Immaculate by Mark Morris - Free Book Online Page A

did he listen to his answering machine, which contained a single message from Frank apologising for not turning up.
    â€œThat’s okay, Frank,” Jack said, looking out of the window at the bright blue sky and feeling very good inside. He took one of his three copies of
Consummation
down from the shelf. “That’s very okay indeed.”
    He was disappointed, but not entirely surprised, when the following week passed without even an acknowledgement from Gail that she had received his book. Then on Friday evening, at twenty-five past six, the telephone rang. Jack was lying in the bath, snoozing. Beside him was a square wicker basket into which he dumped his dirty washing, and on top of the wicker basket was an empty mug that had contained tea, a half-eaten packet of digestive biscuits, a collection by Robert Aickman called
Powers of Darkness
(which was, in fact, one of the secondhand books that he had bought the previous Friday), and the telephone, the long lead of which snaked out into the hall. Jack came fully awake on the second ring. His arm and hand came out of the bath like a brontosaurus in miniature, water streaming from it. He quickly towelled the hand dry and snatched the phone up. “Hello,” he said.
    â€œIs that Jack Stone?”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œHello, Jack. This is Gail here. Gail Reeves. Remember, we met last week in the restaurant?”
    As if he would forget! “Gail, hi. Of course I remember. How are you?”
    â€œVery well, thank you. You?”
    â€œOh . . . fine. Listen, Gail, did you get the book?”
    â€œYes, I did. Thank you so much. I was so thrilled. Actually that’s why I’m ringing. I’m sorry I didn’t ring earlier, but I wanted to read it before I spoke to you again.”
    â€œOh, right,” Jack said. He felt a little surge in his heart. So she
had
intended to ring him right from the beginning! It wasn’t just guilt or politeness that had prompted this call.
    â€œI thought it was superb,” she said. “I really did. Your best one yet. I actually cried when the little boy died.”
    â€œGreat,” said Jack, then laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant it was great that you felt so emotionally attached to the characters.”
    â€œOh, I did. The old woman, Florrie, was so lovely. And the wife, too—I liked her a lot. You really know how women think and feel, Jack. It’s so refreshing to find a male writer who can write good female characters.”
    â€œThanks,” he said, flattered by her praise. “I don’t really know where that . . . insight, if you want to call it that, comes from, though. I grew up without a mother and I never had any sisters. And I’m not particularly good at relationships.”
    He paused, surprised by his own openness; he had already revealed more of himself to Gail in those two sentences than he ever revealed to most people. “Anyway . . . ,” he mumbled to cover his confusion “I . . . er . . . so . . . er . . . what are you up to this weekend?”
    â€œOh,” she said, “nothing much. I might meet up with some friends for a drink tonight, but then again I might not. I may go see a film tomorrow—I think
Wild at Heart
is on at the NFT. I missed it the first time around.”
    â€œDo you like David Lynch?” Jack asked.
    â€œWell . . . yes. I find his stuff incredibly powerful and compelling, but the intensity is pretty unbearable sometimes. How about you?”
    â€œOh, yeah, he and Roeg and Cronenberg are my favourite directors. Pretty standard for someone working in my genre, I suppose. Did you see
Blue Velvet
? I think that may be my favourite film of all time.”
    â€œNo, I think that’s the only one of his I haven’t seen.”
    â€œOh, you must see it. It’s excellent.”
    â€œI will,” said Gail.
    â€œIn fact, I’ve got it on DVD. You’ll