Read Online Wendy Perriam by Wendy Perriam - Free Book Online Page B

checked the time, it had been only ten past ten - unless the clock had stopped.
    “My name is Austin Beamish.” He held out his identity card, which showed his face in miniature, though looking slightly younger than the flesh-and-blood equivalent. “Environmental Health Officer.”
    “Oh, do come in.” Anyone who took environmental issues seriously was welcome in her home. She often lay awake at night, worrying about climate change and holes in ozone layers. “I’m sorry about the mess,” she said, leading him a zigzag path between the various obstacles, towards the only chair. “Please sit down.”
    “Aren’t you going to sit?’’
    “I’m afraid I can’t.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I won’t go into details, but it’s best for me to stand.” That wretched bike again. After years of cycling, the skin at the base of her coccyx had finally worn through, leaving a raw red area, which was extremely painful if she put any pressure on it. Simply sitting on a chair could make it start to bleed. In fact, much the same had happened in the middle of her back, where pressure from the fastening of her bra had rubbed another raw place. Her body needed patching, like she patched the frayed knees of her jeans, but, alas, extra pieces of human skin weren’t as easy to come by as offcuts of blue denim. “Can I get you a coffee?” she offered, wincing as a pain shot through her arm. Neither she nor it had ever really recovered from the fall.
    “No, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “This is not a social visit, Miss Mackenzie.”
    “Do call me Daisy,” she urged, crouching down beside his chair, so they were on roughly the same level. A pity about the moustache. It made him look both sinister and comic, and the combination was just a shade unsettling.
    He removed a large beige folder from his briefcase and sat tapping a pen against it. “I’m afraid there’s been a complaint from one of your neighbours.”
    “A complaint?’ No one could make less noise than her. She didn’t own a radio or television, and, as for parties, the very idea was laughable. Her friends were so thin on the ground these days that, were she to drop down dead tomorrow, the only guests at her funeral would be the bats living in the bell-tower and the mournful crows that pecked around the churchyard - both (conveniently) black-garbed.
    “I believe,” said Mr Beamish, glancing around the room with an expression of distaste, “you have an infestation of mice.”
    “Oh, the mice ! God love them. They’re no trouble.”
    “Mice are vermin, Miss Mack … er, Daisy. And most definitely a health hazard.”
    “No, mine aren’t.” She could hardly hear a sound from them at present - not a rustle, not the faintest scrabble - but then they were always scared by strangers, and Mr Beamish’s deep yet querulous voice would have had them all quivering in their lair behind the skirting board.
    His frown intensified, cutting a ravine between his brows. “They carry diseases - serious diseases such as Leptospirosis, and Salmonellosis, which is transmitted onto food and drink in their excrement. And their continual dribble of urine causes contamination of food.”
    Offended, she drew herself up to her full height again. The mice shared her life, for heaven’s sake, so to have this man revile them was, to say the least, insulting.
    “They also constitute a fire hazard because they can gnaw through electric cables. I don’t know whether you realize, but their incisor teeth grow significantly each year.”
    “Of course I realize. In fact, I’m quite concerned about it. If their teeth get too long, the poor things find it difficult to eat. But I give them stuff to chew on - blocks of wood and dog biscuits - and that keeps their teeth nicely short and sharp.”
    He gave her a look that combined horror with incredulity. “But, that way, you encourage them, which is the last thing you should do. I have no wish to be rude, Miss Mackenzie,