Death in Brunswick Read Online Free PDF

the drugs and your poor wife and little girl—you know I had a letter from her just the other day. Reading between the lines dear, I’m sure she’d have you back…why don’t you try again?’
    Carl was horrified. He controlled himself with difficulty.
    â€˜Yeah, well, maybe, Mother. Listen, I have to go to bed myself soon, so I’ll leave you to it. We’ll have a talk in the morning.’
    *
    He left the room, his head spinning with pills and his mother’s bombshells. Stumbling, he went out the back for a piss. Standing in the darkness he aimed vaguely in the direction of the toilet bowl.
    Jesus, I’ll have to get a light for out here. The poor old bag will break her neck. Break her neck! No, stop it— his thoughts slid—a hundred thou! It must be bullshit, it must be. She’s got it all wrong, I bet. She is getting old.
    One more drink. He took a pull at the tequila bottle, weaved into his bedroom and fell onto his bed fully clothed. His thoughts were slower now. They rose like bubbles of gas.
    I really need that money. There was his ex-wife for instance. She wanted her maintenance payments. Bloody lesbian bitch—Jesus, I hope she didn’t mention that to Mum in her letter. His daughter—he hadn’t seen her for a year. He tried to remember her face. All he could think of was how fair everyone was—his mother, his wife, his daughter and himself—and how dark Sophie was. Jesus, I think I did bugger that up. But she might ring tomorrow—the club. Bloody work! How did I end up there? Because I’m not good enough. I can’t work in places like that the rest of my life—but I mightn’t have to. No, it’s crap—the money. It must be. Besides it could be years away. Anyway I’ll ask Uncle John. Money, shit—what do I owe? Mustafa for one—what the hell’s going on there? I better pay him though—who knows what contacts he’s got in the dope world. But I haven’t got it—this week I’ll get what? A hundred and ninety—but there’s the rent, the phone, and God knows what else, and I’ve got twenty dollars in the bank, or is it thirty. I’ll have to be a reformed character now. God! If Mother ever found out about Mustafa and the pills and that—I’ll have to go to church! I wonder what it’s like now. Could it all be true—the will? And if it is how will I…what about Prue!
    He sat up, holding his head. I couldn’t live with her again. He lay back. I’ll go and see Dave before work tomorrow—he’ll tell me what to do.
    He could hear rain falling outside as he turned over and slipped away into a deep sleep.
    After what seemed five minutes, Carl woke to find his mother bending over him. She was setting a cup of tea beside his bed. He stared at her in shock. He felt like a new-born baby—his life a blank.
    And then slowly, as the pills ebbed, his memory started to return. But what was she doing here? Oh yeah.
    â€˜Jesus, Mother, what time is it?’
    â€˜Time you were up, dear, it’s a lovely morning.’
    A beam of sunlight stabbed into his right eye.
    â€˜Jesus Christ! Mother, what time is it?’
    â€˜Nine o’clock, Carl, and don’t shout at your poor old mother.’
    â€˜Oh, all right.’
    â€˜Get up soon. There’s hardly a scrap of food in the house and I can’t get round to the shops.’
    â€˜Yeah, OK, OK, Mother.’
    He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
    â€˜Now dear, that’s dirty, sleeping in your clothes. You really are…No wonder Prue couldn’t bear it.’
    â€˜Mother! For Christ’s…’ He was about to let loose when he remembered. The money—the will! For some reason it seemed more likely this morning.
    â€˜Well, you know, Mother, I was pretty tired last night…How are you this morning?’ She looks good for another twenty years, fuck