Read Online The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House by Stephanie Lam - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Lam
Ads: Link
‘That’s the name of this place.’
He staggered away along the hall. I turned back to the window and gulped in lungfuls of damp air. I thought of how I could recount this tale of the confused old man to Star, already exaggerating the humour to make her giggle.
I investigated his lopsided kitchen cabinets and discovered the rusting spear of a tin opener in the drawer. I worked it into the metal of the soup can until I’d made enough of a hole to be able to pour some of it into the aluminium saucepan I discovered in the lower cupboard.
The gas sputtered into a squirt of flame and then died. I growled and leaned against the rain-spattered windowsill. Nothing else for it, I thought, as I opened my purse,pulled out a shilling and crouched down to slot it into the meter.
By the time Dockie returned, the soup was beginning to heat up nicely. He shuddered into one of the chairs at the pull-down table. ‘I’m making you soup,’ I said brightly. ‘I put one of my coins in the meter.’
‘Castaway House,’ he said. ‘I remember now. Helmstone, and Castaway House.’
‘Oh, good.’ I stirred the soup with a tarnished metal spoon. ‘It was just a shilling, you know.’
‘I stood at the wash basin. Right hand cold, left hand hot.’ He held his hands out before him. ‘I looked in the mirror, and I remembered.’
‘Remembered?’ I opened the cabinet and found a chipped cereal bowl.
‘I remembered the gentlemen’s facilities at Mulligan’s.’
I poured the bright orange liquid into the bowl.
‘I was there,’ he continued, ‘at the wash basin, looking in the mirror. A bright smear of graffiti on the wall behind. And that is when I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had to go to Castaway House.’
I brought the bowl over to him. ‘Ta-da!’ I said, very proud of myself. ‘Go on, eat it while it’s hot.’
Dockie stared at the bowl. ‘And from there, I took a taxi to the ferry terminal. That, I remember most clearly now. A one-way ticket. The coach journey to London. And another afterwards, to here. I remember all that, you see.’
‘Good.’ I handed him the spoon. ‘If you don’t eat, I’m going to be cross.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned at the spoon and then dipped it intothe bowl and ladled soup through a gap in his beard into his mouth. It appeared to take him some time to swallow, and then he said in a croak, ‘I have a problem with my memory, you see.’
‘Mmm, I’d noticed.’
He put down his spoon. ‘My particular problem now is I cannot for the life of me remember
why
I thought it was a good idea to come here.’
‘You said you had a story to tell. That’s what you said yesterday.’
‘That,’ he said, ‘is what a four-day bender will do to one. One wakes up having apparently rented a room in a strange town. I am an absolute fool. A stupid old bloody fool.’
‘Well, you know …’ I shrugged. ‘Could happen to any of us.’
Dockie put the spoon into the soup again, raised it to his mouth and then lowered it. ‘Castaway House, you said?’
‘That’s right. You said you’d been here before.’
‘I know it.’ He prodded his head. ‘That name, it’s as if a flower were blooming in my brain. I know the name so well, and yet every time I search for its origin, it escapes me. Do you understand? It’s … I suppose one could say it’s like a dream that runs away the more one tries to think about it.’
‘You were talking about a newspaper or a magazine or something.’
‘Ah.’ He narrowed his eyes and then looked down at the overcoat he was still wearing, patting the pockets and taking things out, just as he’d done yesterday. I realized he was never going to eat the soup, and took it from him.I left it on the side, just in case he fancied it later, as he laid upon the table the same collection of bus tickets, a grimy handkerchief, and the torn envelope containing the bundle of notes.
‘What on earth … ?’ He peeled through them and looked up at me.
He staggered away along the hall. I turned back to the window and gulped in lungfuls of damp air. I thought of how I could recount this tale of the confused old man to Star, already exaggerating the humour to make her giggle.
I investigated his lopsided kitchen cabinets and discovered the rusting spear of a tin opener in the drawer. I worked it into the metal of the soup can until I’d made enough of a hole to be able to pour some of it into the aluminium saucepan I discovered in the lower cupboard.
The gas sputtered into a squirt of flame and then died. I growled and leaned against the rain-spattered windowsill. Nothing else for it, I thought, as I opened my purse,pulled out a shilling and crouched down to slot it into the meter.
By the time Dockie returned, the soup was beginning to heat up nicely. He shuddered into one of the chairs at the pull-down table. ‘I’m making you soup,’ I said brightly. ‘I put one of my coins in the meter.’
‘Castaway House,’ he said. ‘I remember now. Helmstone, and Castaway House.’
‘Oh, good.’ I stirred the soup with a tarnished metal spoon. ‘It was just a shilling, you know.’
‘I stood at the wash basin. Right hand cold, left hand hot.’ He held his hands out before him. ‘I looked in the mirror, and I remembered.’
‘Remembered?’ I opened the cabinet and found a chipped cereal bowl.
‘I remembered the gentlemen’s facilities at Mulligan’s.’
I poured the bright orange liquid into the bowl.
‘I was there,’ he continued, ‘at the wash basin, looking in the mirror. A bright smear of graffiti on the wall behind. And that is when I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had to go to Castaway House.’
I brought the bowl over to him. ‘Ta-da!’ I said, very proud of myself. ‘Go on, eat it while it’s hot.’
Dockie stared at the bowl. ‘And from there, I took a taxi to the ferry terminal. That, I remember most clearly now. A one-way ticket. The coach journey to London. And another afterwards, to here. I remember all that, you see.’
‘Good.’ I handed him the spoon. ‘If you don’t eat, I’m going to be cross.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned at the spoon and then dipped it intothe bowl and ladled soup through a gap in his beard into his mouth. It appeared to take him some time to swallow, and then he said in a croak, ‘I have a problem with my memory, you see.’
‘Mmm, I’d noticed.’
He put down his spoon. ‘My particular problem now is I cannot for the life of me remember
why
I thought it was a good idea to come here.’
‘You said you had a story to tell. That’s what you said yesterday.’
‘That,’ he said, ‘is what a four-day bender will do to one. One wakes up having apparently rented a room in a strange town. I am an absolute fool. A stupid old bloody fool.’
‘Well, you know …’ I shrugged. ‘Could happen to any of us.’
Dockie put the spoon into the soup again, raised it to his mouth and then lowered it. ‘Castaway House, you said?’
‘That’s right. You said you’d been here before.’
‘I know it.’ He prodded his head. ‘That name, it’s as if a flower were blooming in my brain. I know the name so well, and yet every time I search for its origin, it escapes me. Do you understand? It’s … I suppose one could say it’s like a dream that runs away the more one tries to think about it.’
‘You were talking about a newspaper or a magazine or something.’
‘Ah.’ He narrowed his eyes and then looked down at the overcoat he was still wearing, patting the pockets and taking things out, just as he’d done yesterday. I realized he was never going to eat the soup, and took it from him.I left it on the side, just in case he fancied it later, as he laid upon the table the same collection of bus tickets, a grimy handkerchief, and the torn envelope containing the bundle of notes.
‘What on earth … ?’ He peeled through them and looked up at me.
Similar Books
