Read Online Truth Dare Kill by Gordon Ferris - Free Book Online Page B

with a jolt in a cinema just as the hero is getting a pasting.
    I was there through that glorious summer, growing stronger – outwardly – every day. I began to do my own reading; this was the second time in my life my mother had got me going. We’d been the only family in the street of red sandstone tenements that borrowed library books from the big Victorian pile across the other side of town. And my folks kept me on at the Academy with the unheard-of goal of university, not apprenticed to a good trade like my pals. It caused pursed lips from the gossips hanging over the fences, their Friday hair in curlers and their fat arms folded. “An’ him only a miner. An’ as for her, wi’
    her airs and graces
    ”
    But the simple reason was that my mother – whose only air was worry and whose only grace was kindness – clenched her jaw and wouldn’t let me follow my dad down the pits, like his dad and his dad’s dad. Especially after what happened.
    So I broke the dynasty. I was going places. Then a bloody wee Austrian with big ideas decided to screw up my life – and here I was.
    I began doing exercises, the ones they’d taught me at SOE. They came damned hard at first and left me breathless and dizzy. But they worked; I left the hospital, on my own two legs, freckled and fit in late August. The Doc said he could have got me fixed up as partially disabled and I’d get 11 bob a week. I declined. At that rate, with ciggies in civvy street at two and fourpence a packet, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker at twenty-five bob, I could have got drunk maybe once a year.
    Besides, I’d found Raymond Chandler in the library, and his books had pointed the way to fame and fortune. I had the training, did I not? I was ready to face the world and raring to go. All I needed were some juicy cases. And the right hat.

SEVEN
    I picked up the bottle, examined it and pushed the cork firmly in. It would be too easy. But then I’d lose another day. I touched the lines Val wrote and took heart. Someone cared. I shook myself, shaved, and washed as best I could in the basin – I have a little gas immerser that gives me enough hot water to keep myself decent. Once a week I go down to the slipper baths at Camberwell and soak until my fingers and toes wrinkle and my skin turns the colour of boiled prawns.
    I was still shaky but hungry now, with a great empty place inside my body and head. I made some toast and jam. It filled my stomach but made no impression on my head. But at least I’d added another couple of memories. They were rotten ones but I could cope better knowing than not knowing. Assuming they were real of course.
    I put on the wireless. I like the Home Service in the afternoon. I was in time for Music While You Work. Jimmy Dorsey’s big band filled the room, then Dinah Shore sang Cole Porter. Music lifts me. I’m a great reader but I don’t understand classical music. I reckon I could if someone explained it to me; it can’t be that far from something like Moonlight Serenade. I mean they’re all tunes, aren’t they, though they seem to use more violins than Dorsey.
    I stepped out the building humming Star Dust, filled with new determination. I had one lead. Kate mentioned a club that Caldwell belonged to over in Jermyn Street. Truth is I’d thought of that, too. But there were simply so many in London that I hadn’t had the heart to trek round them all. To be even more truthful, I don’t like them. I don’t feel comfortable in their plush entrance halls, trying to get past the flunky. I’d been made an officer but I was a long way from feeling like a gentleman.
    I hopped on a bus up to the Elephant and then caught another over the new bridge at Waterloo and down the Strand. I watched the young ticket collector swinging from the pole and jumping up and down the stairs. He seemed happy in his work, chatting to the old girls who cheeked him back. Chatting up the young birds who flushed and stammered. Maybe I should try a different profession?
    I got off