Read Online The Perfect Soldier by Graham Hurley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham Hurley
Ads: Link
perspective.’
She looked at him a moment, astonished at his tone of voice. It was as if James had been dead a month, a fact of life, just one of those things, already discounted.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Well.…’ he glanced up at her for the first time, ‘something like that happens, God almighty, you don’t start worrying about the mortgage.’
Molly looked away, pulling her coat around her, anger this time, not simply irritation.
‘So it helped, really,’ she said at last. ‘Got you off the hook.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘James dying. Made you realise what really matters.’
They looked at each other for a moment then Giles busied himself with the teapot, decanting UHT milk into tupperware mugs. Without thinking, Molly began to clear a space on the table. The table was covered by a nautical chart. The corners of the chart were weighed down with pots of jam and honey and there was a pile of wooden shavings where Giles had been sharpening a pencil. Molly tidied the shavings into an ashtray, glancing at the chart as she did so. It showed the area around the Cherbourg peninsula, a thin pencilled line dog-legging down towards the Channel Islands. Molly began to roll up the map. As Giles put the mugs on the empty table she noticed that his hands were shaking.
‘You’ll miss all this,’ she said, securing the map with an elastic band.
‘Miss all what?’
‘The boat.’ She looked him in the eye as he settled behind the table. ‘Being able to get away at weekends.’
‘Yes, I suppose I will.’ He nodded matter-of-factly. ‘My fault though. No one else’s.’
Molly reached for the tea. The mug was scalding hot.
‘Patrick says it’s curtains. He says we’ll have to sell everything. More or less.’
‘Except the house.’
‘Yes. He mentioned that. Apparently we’re allowed to stay. Until we die.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it goes to Lloyd’s.’
‘Yes.’
‘Along with everything else.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Molly fell silent for a moment, her hands around the mug. Giles was gazing across at the brass barometer, fixed to the bulkhead. The arrow was pointing to ‘Unsettled’.
‘Just as well then …’ she said after a while.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Just as well. I was thinking about James. It would have been nice to have left him something, you know, like most parents do. No point now though, eh?’
Molly broke off, not wanting to push the thought any further, ashamed at how easily she’d let the bitterness overcome her. Yesterday, in church, she’d vowed to stay strong, to be the one who held it all together. Yet here she was, barely twenty-four hours later, letting it get the better of her. Maybe the psychologists were right. Women really were the weaker sex. She offered Giles a bright smile.
‘I came across to find out how you are,’ she said, ‘how you’re coping. I was worried.’
‘Yes, of course …’ He nodded at once. ‘I’m sorry to have been so … you know … yesterday … I’m not sure exactly what happened. To tell you the truth, I can barely remember any of it.’
‘You were very upset, my love.’ She reached for his hand. ‘There’s no need to apologise.’
‘Yes, but …’ he ducked his head, shamefaced, ‘I wasn’t much use, was I?’
‘No, but neither of us were very brave.’ She smiled at him. ‘Patrick’s right. We just have to get on with it. There’s nothing else we can do.’
He nodded, listening to her, letting the conversation die. Driving across, she’d vowed to try and establish some kind of timetable, what they’d have to do and when, but already she knew it wouldn’t be easy. It was as if Giles had shuffled out of the room they called their life. He was as unreachable now as he’d been yesterday, walling himself off behind a series of polite evasions.
‘More tea?’
‘No thanks.’ She covered the mug with her hand. ‘I was hoping we might talk. About what happens next. How long do we have?
She looked at him a moment, astonished at his tone of voice. It was as if James had been dead a month, a fact of life, just one of those things, already discounted.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Well.…’ he glanced up at her for the first time, ‘something like that happens, God almighty, you don’t start worrying about the mortgage.’
Molly looked away, pulling her coat around her, anger this time, not simply irritation.
‘So it helped, really,’ she said at last. ‘Got you off the hook.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘James dying. Made you realise what really matters.’
They looked at each other for a moment then Giles busied himself with the teapot, decanting UHT milk into tupperware mugs. Without thinking, Molly began to clear a space on the table. The table was covered by a nautical chart. The corners of the chart were weighed down with pots of jam and honey and there was a pile of wooden shavings where Giles had been sharpening a pencil. Molly tidied the shavings into an ashtray, glancing at the chart as she did so. It showed the area around the Cherbourg peninsula, a thin pencilled line dog-legging down towards the Channel Islands. Molly began to roll up the map. As Giles put the mugs on the empty table she noticed that his hands were shaking.
‘You’ll miss all this,’ she said, securing the map with an elastic band.
‘Miss all what?’
‘The boat.’ She looked him in the eye as he settled behind the table. ‘Being able to get away at weekends.’
‘Yes, I suppose I will.’ He nodded matter-of-factly. ‘My fault though. No one else’s.’
Molly reached for the tea. The mug was scalding hot.
‘Patrick says it’s curtains. He says we’ll have to sell everything. More or less.’
‘Except the house.’
‘Yes. He mentioned that. Apparently we’re allowed to stay. Until we die.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it goes to Lloyd’s.’
‘Yes.’
‘Along with everything else.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Molly fell silent for a moment, her hands around the mug. Giles was gazing across at the brass barometer, fixed to the bulkhead. The arrow was pointing to ‘Unsettled’.
‘Just as well then …’ she said after a while.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Just as well. I was thinking about James. It would have been nice to have left him something, you know, like most parents do. No point now though, eh?’
Molly broke off, not wanting to push the thought any further, ashamed at how easily she’d let the bitterness overcome her. Yesterday, in church, she’d vowed to stay strong, to be the one who held it all together. Yet here she was, barely twenty-four hours later, letting it get the better of her. Maybe the psychologists were right. Women really were the weaker sex. She offered Giles a bright smile.
‘I came across to find out how you are,’ she said, ‘how you’re coping. I was worried.’
‘Yes, of course …’ He nodded at once. ‘I’m sorry to have been so … you know … yesterday … I’m not sure exactly what happened. To tell you the truth, I can barely remember any of it.’
‘You were very upset, my love.’ She reached for his hand. ‘There’s no need to apologise.’
‘Yes, but …’ he ducked his head, shamefaced, ‘I wasn’t much use, was I?’
‘No, but neither of us were very brave.’ She smiled at him. ‘Patrick’s right. We just have to get on with it. There’s nothing else we can do.’
He nodded, listening to her, letting the conversation die. Driving across, she’d vowed to try and establish some kind of timetable, what they’d have to do and when, but already she knew it wouldn’t be easy. It was as if Giles had shuffled out of the room they called their life. He was as unreachable now as he’d been yesterday, walling himself off behind a series of polite evasions.
‘More tea?’
‘No thanks.’ She covered the mug with her hand. ‘I was hoping we might talk. About what happens next. How long do we have?
Similar Books
