Berserk Read Online Free PDF

least a ghost tickling his foot in the night would take his mind off Steven, and that map, and the fact that Nathan King for some reason wanted him to find the grave.
    Or did he? Maybe the red X was a red herring. Perhaps King was just a cruel man, taking pleasure in Tom’s desperation and loss.
    “You’re filthy!” Jo said. “Oh for God’s sake, you and your bloody exploring.”
    “Want to wash me off in the bath?”
    “Stop being a frisky old sod and carry our suitcase upstairs, will you?” She smiled at him, one side of her mouth rising in a look that spoke of years of love and familiarity. Sometimes Tom thought they knew each other too well – that Steven’s death had left an irreparable hole in their lives that they tried to fill with more of themselves – but he found endless comfort in their strong relationship. Many people turned to God, but he had to look no further than his wife.
    Upstairs, Tom and Jo unpacked their suitcase, hung their clothes, pulled back the bedclothes to let them air, and all the while Tom was aware of the map in his back pocket. It felt heavier than a simple piece of paper. He kept touching the pocket, slipping his finger inside to make sure it was still there. If Jo found it he had no idea what he would tell her. Not the truth, for sure: Jo, I think this is where Steven is really buried. Oh no. That way lay madness. But lying to his wife was not something that came naturally, and he was sure that whatever happened, she would see through his lie to the terrible truth beneath.
    “What shall we do for dinner?” Jo asked.
    Tom looked at her blankly for a few seconds, trying to haul his thoughts back from their buried son. “Dinner?”
    “You eat it,” she said. “Here, or in the local pub?”
    “Oh, er . . .” Tom shook his head. “The pub, I think.”
    “You sure? I could cook the steak we brought.”
    There’ll be people in the pub, he thought. Noise, bustle, spaces I can stare into without Jo wondering why. “Let’s have that tomorrow,” he said. “Come on, it’ll be nice to eat out our first night here.”
    “Alright, but you’re not allowed to choose steak. That chance has gone, mister.” She pecked him on the cheek and went into the bathroom.
    Tom clunked downstairs, making noise so that Jo did not think he was sneaking around. He snorted, shook his head and sat on the flowery settee in the living room. Damn it, I’m not sneaking about all fucking weekend! But he took the map from his pocket, coughing as he opened it to mask the sound of paper crinkling, and spread it on his knee. There was little to reveal its location on the Plain other than the coordinates, and for that he would have to buy a larger-scale OS map. There were no villages, farms or settlements, no major roads, and no names that he could see to identify any particular area. All the map displayed were the contour lines of gentle hills, a couple of stone mounds, and a meandering stream at the bottom edge. That, and the red X. How dare they bury my Steven in no place at all, he thought, the sentiment raw and sore in his eyes. He wiped away the first tears, sniffed, stood and walked to the kitchen. In one of the food boxes he had packed a bottle of Jameson’s, and he spun the top off and took a long, luxurious swig from the bottle.
    Jo said he drank too much. But then she barely drank at all, so she did not understand the pleasure he derived from it. That was his excuse anyway, and his stock answer when she brought it up, though sometimes he thought his drinking had more to do with drowning pain than promoting pleasure.
    He took another swig, put the top back on, and closed his eyes as the whiskey burned its way into his stomach. Upstairs he heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on, the water hammering the pipes and seeming to set the house shaking on its foundations.
    “Tom!” Jo called.
    “Okay, I hear it!” he shouted. “Probably the ghost trying to get out of the pipes.”
    Jo was