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to be worked out properly, Lois stressed. She had no intention
of taking a partner, but profits could be apportioned fairly
with not too much difficulty. Her Josie, she said, was good at
that sort of thing. They could all put their heads together and
come up with a really workable arrangement.  If you re inter-
ested, that is, she said, smiling at Andrew s rapid changes of
expression.  Think about it, and give me a ring, she added.
Hazel was stunned into silence, but Andrew stood up and
extended his hand.  You re on, Mrs. Meade, he said.  My
dad always said strike while the iron s hot. I ll be in touch
very soon. And thanks, he said, turning to Hazel.  Carry on
laughing.
He strode out of the office, and Lois stood next to Hazel at
the window, watching him disappear up the street.
 He s walking fast, Lois said.
 And his head s in the air, said Hazel.  See what you ve
done, Mrs. M? Let s hope it s a good morning s work. Quite a
charmer, in his funny way.
Twenty-Five
t breakfast Susie said very little, having slept fit-
Afully. She went to work as usual and was as conscientious
as always, but her mind was not fully on the job. She had not
yet taken it in. Granddad dead? It didn t seem real. He had
always been there. She loved her parents, of course, but at
an early age saw their faults. She d had school friends whose
houses were warm and spotless and smelt of polish and laven-
der, instead of the all-pervading frying sausages. Their folks
never missed a parents evening, and whole families came in
force to school plays and concerts. Susie was lucky if either
Mum or Dad came, never both. But Granddad was always
there. Sometimes in his railway uniform, smart and proud.
The day passed slowly, and when it was finally time for her
to leave, she put on her jacket and hurried away down Gordon
Street. It was a dismal evening, damp and overcast, and the
street was empty for once. Douglas had invited her for a meal
at the pizza place in the town centre, but it was too early.
Instead of going home, she decided to go along the footpath
Warning at One 127
that led round the back of the terrace and have a quick look
at Granddad s back yard. Her heart fluttered as she wondered
whether the police had left Clem s tools and other familiar,
forlorn things around.
She steeled herself and lifted the latch on his gate, but it
was locked. She smiled, remembering the set of keys that
Granddad had given her. Fishing them from her bag, she
turned the big rusty one in the gate lock and pushed it open.
It was like a punch in the stomach, seeing the old lavatory
shed with its door firmly shut. Now there was no Satan to
peck at the stale bread she used to bring from the supermar-
ket. She walked past quickly, and saw that the back door of
the house was also shut, and the windows blank. No smiling
Granddad waiting for her at the door. She gulped. Granddad
never shut his door except in severe weather, and his grubby
curtains were always drawn back unevenly. Everything had
soon become grubby after Granny died. But further back in
time, when she had been really small, she remembered the
warm, comfortable sitting room with a leaping fire that sent
fl ickering reflections in the brass coal scuttle, and twinkled
on the gleaming barley-sugar twist candlesticks on the win-
dowsill that had been her grandmother s pride and joy.
The house had been emptied, of course, and for once Mum
and Dad had been united. They had stripped the place inde-
cently quickly, removing anything that might fetch a few
pounds and consigning the rest to a skip dumped on the
pavement outside the front door. It was removed quickly, once
they had done with it, being a traffic hazard in such a narrow
street. Susie had not been allowed to be part of the clear-
ing operation, but she had been walking down Gordon Street
when the lorry came to load up the skip. She caught sight of
a biscuit tin, rusty at the edges and with a colourful picture
128 Ann Purser
of a coach and horses outside a ridiculously clean and freshly
painted village inn. She remembered Granddad laughing at
it, asking Granny where was the horse shit and where were
the drunken farmers throwing up in the water trough? That s
what it was really like, he had told a wide-eyed Susie.
She also remembered what was in it. After all the biscuits
had been eaten, Granddad had taken it off to his toolbox and
kept it in case it would come in useful. In due course, it had
come in very useful. One long-ago day at Tresham station,
there had been a VIP visit. Red carpet runners had been put
down, and the local florist had arranged flowers at every turn.
Granddad had taken a major part in the planning, and had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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