A City of Strangers Read Online Free PDF

English Department of West Yorkshire University, but they would do it in their own cars. Evie valued the symbols as well as the realities of independence. Steven, his books for the day collected up, sat down again at his desk. It was all very well to say, “Forget the protective chivalry bit.” He was of a generation to whom a degree of protectiveness toward women came naturally. It was possibly true that Evie was more than a match for Kevin Phelan. But women were weaker physically than men. They never advocated mixing the sexes in the Wimbledon singles, did they? Or in the Olympics? What would happen if she came up against a thug who was strong as well as vicious? She might reject protection then, but she’d damned well need it. Protectiveness, Steven thought, was a natural part of a man’s relationship with a woman.
    He screwed up his face in bewilderment. On an impulse he pulled the desk telephone toward him and dialed a well-remembered number. At the other end it rang and rang, but no one answered.

    When she walked up the steps from her basement flat that evening Carol saw Daphne Bridewell watching her from her sitting-room window. She waved and showed her crossed fingers. Daphne knew where she was going.
    As she turned into the Estate she felt positively furtive. It was early October, and dark by half past eight, and the Estate was not well lit. She gained confidence as she went on and saw that the Phelans’ house was shut up and darkened. She was tempted to linger and survey the collection of car parts, rusty bike wheels, and assorted bric-a-brac in the garden, but they presented mere shapes to her, ghostly outlines of wrecks. She slipped in next door and rang the bell on Lottie Makepeace’s front door.
    Mrs. Makepeace was not the fat, jolly, comfortable figure that might have been expected—the sort an unhappy child might easily attach himself to. Instead she was a spare yet pleasant woman of around seventy, someone with a ready enough smile (with a touch of the conspiratorial), but also with something of reserve. Carol got from her a definite sense of rectitude. Was that, perhaps, what Michael had sensed he needed?
    â€œCome through to the kitchen,” she said, ushering Carol through the narrow hall. “It’s warmer there—I’ve been baking. And it’s a pity to waste a grand smell!”
    The kitchen did indeed smell good—of cakes and biscuits. Lottie Makepeace showed she had made ready for her visit by pouring boiling water into a large teapot. She plopped a tea-cozy over it, and turned round to look at, and sum up, her visitor.
    â€œDo you bake for yourself?” asked Carol, conscious of being judged.
    â€œOh, I like a bit of cake or biscuit for elevenses.” She grinned an oddly schoolgirl grin. “But you’ll have guessed I wouldn’t bother if it weren’t for the kids next door.”
    â€œDo they all come round, then?”
    â€œThey do if they smell baking! Michael’s the favorite, of course. Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but I don’t see why neighbors shouldn’t. The younger ones tag along with him generally if there’s something to be got.” She shot Carol a sad look. “To tell the truth, I don’t think there’s much to be done with them, not with Dale or Jackie, young as they are.”
    Carol nodded.
    â€œNo, that’s what the rumor is at school. That’s what worries me so. Michael’s such a bright boy—talented, alert, fresh-minded—and he’s surrounded by so much . . . well, squalor is the word, I suppose. And I don’t just mean physical squalor.”
    Lottie Makepeace looked at her shrewdly.
    â€œDo you remember that film—no, you’d be too young— The Corn Is Green ?”
    â€œI’ve seen it on television. I know what you’re thinking. You think I want to give Michael special treatment, educate him out of his