Read Online The Language of the Dead by Stephen Kelly - Free Book Online Page B

his surprise, she kissed him quickly on the cheek and said “Thank you, David. You’re very charming.” She drew Wallace’s jacket around herself and added, “I’d ask you to walk me home but I’m afraid it’s a bit of a distance. It’s fifteen minutes, at least.”
    She was an odd bird, but he liked her. And he wanted her. Their mutual teasing and the beer had loosed something in him. A walk would do him good, he thought. Clear his head.
    â€œI don’t mind the walk,” he said. “I can’t very well let you walk home all alone in the dark.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” she said, and smiled at him.
    She walked beside him, shivering a little. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. She was young and firm, very well put together, and Wallace began to conjure images of what she looked like with her clothes off and that playful smile on her face.
    He was surprised to find that she lived in a small, semi-detached brick house with a front garden in the middle of a street of similar houses called Chatham Close. When she’d said that she lived alone on a secretary’s salary, he’d imagined her in a tiny flat with just enoughroom for a bed and table and a bath at the end of the hall. He walked her to her door and waited while she unlocked it. She pushed open the door and turned to face him. “Would you like to come in?” she asked. “I could make you a cup of tea—fortify you a bit for your walk home.”
    â€œI could use a cup of tea.”
    They stepped into a small sitting room; Delilah turned on a lamp. Wallace found the room typical-looking, with a couch and coffee table against the right wall, a couple of chairs facing them, a narrow stair on the left that led to the second floor, and a small hall, on the right, which he guessed led to the kitchen. Perhaps her father had money, he thought.
    Delilah turned to him. “Thank you for the coat, David,” she said. Rather than hand it to him, she let it fall from her shoulders to the floor.
    She moved close to him and Wallace caught the full scent of her. She put her arms around his neck; he felt her breasts against his chest. He moved his hands to her hips and they kissed—a lengthy, slow kiss. He couldn’t quite believe his luck. Then Delilah let her arms drop from his shoulders and took a step backward, leaving him hard and ready.
    â€œWould you rather a nightcap than a cup of tea?” she asked.
    â€œYes.”
    She went to a small cupboard against the far wall and withdrew a bottle of Irish whiskey and two small glasses. She filled them and offered one to Wallace. They eyed each other as they drank, almost as if they were sealing a pact, Wallace thought. She drank her whiskey quickly, tossing it back; Wallace did the same. He was giving in again. A year earlier he’d gone through a patch in which he’d drunk too much; he’d shown up late for work in a disheveled state once too often. He’d confessed his problem to Lamb, who’d verbally kicked his arse, then helped him to regain a grip on his life. Wallace told himself that the transgression he was about to make was only temporary, a one-off. He moved to take Delilah in his arms but she resisted. “Sit on the floor,” she said. She pointed to a place in front of the sofa. “Just there.”
    Another game
. He did as she ordered.
    â€œTake off your shoes,” she said. He obeyed.
    She stood before him, a few feet away, unzipped her green dress and let it fall to the floor. She unhooked her bra, freeing her effusive breasts, her eyes fixed on Wallace. She pushed off her knickers and stood before him naked, in her black heels. She took the bottle in her hand and raised her chin toward the ceiling, tossing her hair. She poured a stream of the whiskey down the front of her neck; the brown liquid ran quickly between her breasts and over her soft belly and into her sex. She touched herself