Read Online Time to Say Goodbye by Katie Flynn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Flynn
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around a feller; a stay-at-home girl, in fact. Well, you certainly found one there.’ He shrugged, then punched Laurie lightly on the shoulder. ‘You’ll have no competition for that one; not from me at any rate. I like my women to have sex appeal.’
‘And you want them to be willing; in fact that’s all you care about really,’ Laurie said with a grimace. ‘I’m a bit choosier than you, old fellow. I want someone I can talk to.’
‘If you want someone to talk to, what’s wrong with me?’ Dave said plaintively. He turned to grin up at the taller man and spoke in a squeaky voice: ‘Gee, honey, let’s discuss the theory of relativity . . .’
But before he could go further Laurie had bent down and made a snowball, and Dave’s sentence ended in a splutter as the missile got him right in the teeth. ‘Better the theory of relativity – which I’m bloody sure you don’t understand – than assessing every woman you meet on a “will she won’t she” basis,’ Laurie said reprovingly. ‘But that’s what you get if you simply grab for any girl you find bedworthy. I like to get to know a girl . . .’
‘. . . before you even ask her to dance,’ Dave said, grinning. ‘Well, you’re a relic from the past, Laurie Matthews, but if you ask me, life’s too short—’
‘Shurrup,’ Laurie said at once. ‘Tell you what, how about making up a foursome? Auntie and Jill, you and me . . .’
This time it was Laurie who found himself spluttering through a mouthful of snow, but when the conversation looked like deteriorating into a snowball fight he backed off at once. ‘Pax, pax, you idiot!’ he said, spitting snow. ‘I admit Auntie’s a trifle long in the tooth to accede to your rampant demands, so I’ll have to revisit the Canary and Linnet with no masculine support. And now stop fooling around and let’s get a move on. The Met boys say we’re all set for a thaw, so I mean to make the most of the snow and visit the pub whenever the opportunity offers. And don’t you go offering to come with me, because you’ll only queer my pitch.’
Jill was a light sleeper and was the first to hear the little whimpering cries coming from the girls’ attic bedroom. Her first thought was that Debby’s nightmares had started again, but when she hurried up the stairs and opened the door she saw, in the dim snowlight coming through the window, Imogen sitting up in bed. She was very flushed, and when Jill lit the candle which stood on the dressing table she saw that the child’s pupils were very enlarged and she looked terrified. Jill sat down on the bed and put her arms round her, giving her a gentle hug. ‘It’s all right, my love, you’re safe in your own bed,’ she said soothingly. ‘Can’t you get to sleep? Did you have a bad dream? Jill’s here, and won’t leave you.’
Imogen gave a low moan. ‘Falling, falling . . . the ice won’t hold,’ she muttered, in a hoarse wavering voice which Jill scarcely recognised. ‘I’m in the water . . . get me out of the water. Tell the men I’m sorry I was bad, I’ll never be bad again if they’ll only get me out!’
Jill smoothed the hair off Imogen’s forehead and realised that the child must be running a temperature, for the hair was damp and the forehead almost frighteningly hot. But probably it was no wonder, considering what had happened to her. Jill, who had had very little experience of illness, tried to lie Imogen down again, but the child flung her arms round Jill’s neck and refused to let go.
‘If I let go I’ll drown,’ she said, then withdrew from Jill a little. ‘Who are you?’ Her big frightened eyes scanned the room. ‘Where am I?’ Jill began to reply but was interrupted. ‘ Who am I?’ Imogen demanded, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘Am I the lady in the brown dress? Am I going to die?’
Poor Jill, realising that she needed to fetch Auntie, tried once again to detach Imogen’s arms from round her neck, but before she could
‘And you want them to be willing; in fact that’s all you care about really,’ Laurie said with a grimace. ‘I’m a bit choosier than you, old fellow. I want someone I can talk to.’
‘If you want someone to talk to, what’s wrong with me?’ Dave said plaintively. He turned to grin up at the taller man and spoke in a squeaky voice: ‘Gee, honey, let’s discuss the theory of relativity . . .’
But before he could go further Laurie had bent down and made a snowball, and Dave’s sentence ended in a splutter as the missile got him right in the teeth. ‘Better the theory of relativity – which I’m bloody sure you don’t understand – than assessing every woman you meet on a “will she won’t she” basis,’ Laurie said reprovingly. ‘But that’s what you get if you simply grab for any girl you find bedworthy. I like to get to know a girl . . .’
‘. . . before you even ask her to dance,’ Dave said, grinning. ‘Well, you’re a relic from the past, Laurie Matthews, but if you ask me, life’s too short—’
‘Shurrup,’ Laurie said at once. ‘Tell you what, how about making up a foursome? Auntie and Jill, you and me . . .’
This time it was Laurie who found himself spluttering through a mouthful of snow, but when the conversation looked like deteriorating into a snowball fight he backed off at once. ‘Pax, pax, you idiot!’ he said, spitting snow. ‘I admit Auntie’s a trifle long in the tooth to accede to your rampant demands, so I’ll have to revisit the Canary and Linnet with no masculine support. And now stop fooling around and let’s get a move on. The Met boys say we’re all set for a thaw, so I mean to make the most of the snow and visit the pub whenever the opportunity offers. And don’t you go offering to come with me, because you’ll only queer my pitch.’
Jill was a light sleeper and was the first to hear the little whimpering cries coming from the girls’ attic bedroom. Her first thought was that Debby’s nightmares had started again, but when she hurried up the stairs and opened the door she saw, in the dim snowlight coming through the window, Imogen sitting up in bed. She was very flushed, and when Jill lit the candle which stood on the dressing table she saw that the child’s pupils were very enlarged and she looked terrified. Jill sat down on the bed and put her arms round her, giving her a gentle hug. ‘It’s all right, my love, you’re safe in your own bed,’ she said soothingly. ‘Can’t you get to sleep? Did you have a bad dream? Jill’s here, and won’t leave you.’
Imogen gave a low moan. ‘Falling, falling . . . the ice won’t hold,’ she muttered, in a hoarse wavering voice which Jill scarcely recognised. ‘I’m in the water . . . get me out of the water. Tell the men I’m sorry I was bad, I’ll never be bad again if they’ll only get me out!’
Jill smoothed the hair off Imogen’s forehead and realised that the child must be running a temperature, for the hair was damp and the forehead almost frighteningly hot. But probably it was no wonder, considering what had happened to her. Jill, who had had very little experience of illness, tried to lie Imogen down again, but the child flung her arms round Jill’s neck and refused to let go.
‘If I let go I’ll drown,’ she said, then withdrew from Jill a little. ‘Who are you?’ Her big frightened eyes scanned the room. ‘Where am I?’ Jill began to reply but was interrupted. ‘ Who am I?’ Imogen demanded, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘Am I the lady in the brown dress? Am I going to die?’
Poor Jill, realising that she needed to fetch Auntie, tried once again to detach Imogen’s arms from round her neck, but before she could
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