Read Online The Kimota Anthology by Steve Lockley, Stephen Gallagher, Neal Asher, Stephen Laws, Mark Chadbourn, Mark Morris, Paul Finch, William Meikle, Peter Crowther, Graeme Hurry - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Lockley, Stephen Gallagher, Neal Asher, Stephen Laws, Mark Chadbourn, Mark Morris, Paul Finch, William Meikle, Peter Crowther, Graeme Hurry
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expression. “Where’s his cot?”
She found it in the nursery in its old place under the light. “John must have moved it back here this morning. I wish he’d talked it over with me. He’s always doing things without consulting me.”
Donna saw the concerned look on Gill’s face and attributed it to thoughts of her husband in hospital, drugged up on painkillers, unable to raise even a smile.
“And I told him to take that thing with him and dump it. Why doesn’t he listen to me?”
Over the cot, hanging from the light, was the old dummy.
Gill laid Christopher down and tucked the blankets around him. “Oh well, no point in thinking about that now. Let’s get that tea.”
Gill selected a get well card for John from the newsagents on the edge of the estate. It seemed like such an insubstantial, pathetic thing, but she wanted to feel like she was doing something and at least it would show she had been thinking of him when she visited that evening.
Christopher squirmed in his cuddlepack as Gill went up to the till to pay for the card, but he calmed down when the newsagent, a ruddy-cheeked woman with tight brown curls, began to coo over him.
“Are you settling in all right, love?” she asked between the baby talk.
Gill said they were. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her about John’s accident, the gruesome details that would have to be recounted, the gossip and constant checks on his health that would ensue.
“Because you’ve been there a few months now, haven’t you. Makes a nice change.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, people don’t seem to stay there long. A few months. A year at the most. When I was younger, kids used to move into a house and stay there all their life. Now they’re always on the go, always trying to get bigger and better places. Their lives suffer, but they can’t see it at the time. That’s why we don’t have communities these days, you see. No one stays around long enough to know their neighbour’s first name.”
Gill agreed with her, but there was something in what she said that sent tremors running through her mind. “Did an old man ever live in our house?” The words sounded innocent, but to Gill the question hung in the air like a threat.
The newsagent wrinkled her nose and thought. “There’ve been so many and I haven’t really known them all. I think there was, just after it was built, but I can’t think of his name for the life of me.”
“What happened to him? Did he die?”
“I don’t know, love. He...”
“Yes, he died.” The voice was cold and hard. Gill turned round and faced a woman who had been flicking through the magazines when she came in. She had bitter, dark eyes and a face that had grown comfortable in a sour expression. “What do you want to know about him for?”
“I just wondered...”
“Nobody mentions his name any more, the ones who remember him.” She looked at the newsagent. “You know who he was. I came in to tell you when the police came for him.”
The newsagent turned slowly red. “Oh,” she said quietly.
The woman turned back to Gill. “He was a pervert. An old, sick bastard.” She caught at her breath and composed herself. “He used to get the children to go to his house for toffees and cakes and to watch his TV. Then one of them went missing, a boy, a little boy. Never did any harm to anyone. And two more, twins, a boy and a girl, the cutest little pair, just six years old.” Tears came up into her eyes and she blinked them away. “We knew it was him. The police got him before we could. They took him off in a van and we never saw him again. The bastard died before he got to court.” She heaved in a lungful of calming air. “It was nearly 25 years ago now. They never found them, the kids. They never found my Tommy...” Her voice trailed away along with the bitterness and she suddenly looked as if she had been beaten about the face.
“I’m sorry,” Gill said weakly. She hugged her arms around
She found it in the nursery in its old place under the light. “John must have moved it back here this morning. I wish he’d talked it over with me. He’s always doing things without consulting me.”
Donna saw the concerned look on Gill’s face and attributed it to thoughts of her husband in hospital, drugged up on painkillers, unable to raise even a smile.
“And I told him to take that thing with him and dump it. Why doesn’t he listen to me?”
Over the cot, hanging from the light, was the old dummy.
Gill laid Christopher down and tucked the blankets around him. “Oh well, no point in thinking about that now. Let’s get that tea.”
Gill selected a get well card for John from the newsagents on the edge of the estate. It seemed like such an insubstantial, pathetic thing, but she wanted to feel like she was doing something and at least it would show she had been thinking of him when she visited that evening.
Christopher squirmed in his cuddlepack as Gill went up to the till to pay for the card, but he calmed down when the newsagent, a ruddy-cheeked woman with tight brown curls, began to coo over him.
“Are you settling in all right, love?” she asked between the baby talk.
Gill said they were. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her about John’s accident, the gruesome details that would have to be recounted, the gossip and constant checks on his health that would ensue.
“Because you’ve been there a few months now, haven’t you. Makes a nice change.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, people don’t seem to stay there long. A few months. A year at the most. When I was younger, kids used to move into a house and stay there all their life. Now they’re always on the go, always trying to get bigger and better places. Their lives suffer, but they can’t see it at the time. That’s why we don’t have communities these days, you see. No one stays around long enough to know their neighbour’s first name.”
Gill agreed with her, but there was something in what she said that sent tremors running through her mind. “Did an old man ever live in our house?” The words sounded innocent, but to Gill the question hung in the air like a threat.
The newsagent wrinkled her nose and thought. “There’ve been so many and I haven’t really known them all. I think there was, just after it was built, but I can’t think of his name for the life of me.”
“What happened to him? Did he die?”
“I don’t know, love. He...”
“Yes, he died.” The voice was cold and hard. Gill turned round and faced a woman who had been flicking through the magazines when she came in. She had bitter, dark eyes and a face that had grown comfortable in a sour expression. “What do you want to know about him for?”
“I just wondered...”
“Nobody mentions his name any more, the ones who remember him.” She looked at the newsagent. “You know who he was. I came in to tell you when the police came for him.”
The newsagent turned slowly red. “Oh,” she said quietly.
The woman turned back to Gill. “He was a pervert. An old, sick bastard.” She caught at her breath and composed herself. “He used to get the children to go to his house for toffees and cakes and to watch his TV. Then one of them went missing, a boy, a little boy. Never did any harm to anyone. And two more, twins, a boy and a girl, the cutest little pair, just six years old.” Tears came up into her eyes and she blinked them away. “We knew it was him. The police got him before we could. They took him off in a van and we never saw him again. The bastard died before he got to court.” She heaved in a lungful of calming air. “It was nearly 25 years ago now. They never found them, the kids. They never found my Tommy...” Her voice trailed away along with the bitterness and she suddenly looked as if she had been beaten about the face.
“I’m sorry,” Gill said weakly. She hugged her arms around
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