Drowned Sprat and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

window and waved an admonishing finger at them. But they weren’t children. He was rooted to the spot, frozen, as if the chill winds of the Flat had followed him home to Cashmere. He thought of all the times he’d wanted to hit Daphne, when she wasirritating, when she’d needled him, during their last years together. He never had. Perhaps he should have.
    The girl was moving. She crawled on her hands and knees to the front step.
    ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ said Kieran. ‘Have some fucking pride.’
    Nikki buried her face in her hands and sobbed. It was a quiet sobbing — Donald couldn’t hear her, but her shoulders heaved and sighed. Kieran came to her and grabbed her roughly by one arm. Turning her head away, as if she feared another blow, the girl screamed in high soprano, ‘Leave me alone!’
    Donald saw that she hadn’t been crying at all, not really. Her face was dry. The boy saw it, too. Her threw her arm away like a stick and bent towards her, his face ugly, strained.
    ‘That’s exactly what I want to do. I didn’t want you to come to the Flat in the first place. Fuck off!’
    If he didn’t sit down right now, Donald thought, he would fall over. He took a step around the side of his chair, warning himself not to look out the window. He didn’t want them to know he’d been watching — what would they think? An old man watching them fight. It was almost as voyeuristic as if he’d watched them make love.
    From two or three yards away, through the glass, Kieran was looking at him. The older man met his eyes; he couldn’t stop himself. The girl stayed huddled between them while the men stared at each other. Kieran smiled. It was a sort of half smile — complicitous, a smile that meant ‘Women!’ and ‘What we men have to put up with!’
    Donald turned his back on him and sank into his chair. What was all that? It hadn’t seemed real — the dry tears, the beautiful face of the boy screwed up, tense as a fist.
    With the sound of running feet he dared to look out again.The girl was wheeling her bicycle out of his garage, really crying now, with her nose running. There was a graze on her temple, a bead of blood on a spike of orange hair. Outside his window she threw herself astride the saddle. Full of tears, her eyes searched the window before she found him.
    ‘Goodbye,’ she mouthed, then she rode away, disappeared.
    Kieran was standing beside him, his guilty hands shoved into his pockets. Donald wouldn’t look at him. He sat with his stick between his legs, turning it round and round, screwing its rubber end into the carpet.
    ‘You won’t fight in a war, but you’ll hit a woman,’ he said eventually. Kieran’s eyes bored into the top of his bald head. The boy probably thought he was a specious old fool. He said nothing to defend himself, at any rate.
    ‘You’re a coward,’ said Donald, ‘aren’t you?’
    ‘I suppose so.’ Kieran spoke evenly. ‘I’m sorry, Donald.’
    ‘It’s not me you should be apologising to!’ Donald exploded. ‘Go home. I’ve had enough for one day.’
    Kieran’s footsteps led towards the hall and stopped. ‘I wasn’t apologising for myself. I meant, I’m sorry she asked all those stupid questions.’
    ‘She’s young, curious. It’s natural. I didn’t mind,’ Donald lied. He swivelled in his seat, but the boy had gone. He’d left while Donald was still speaking. A moment later, silver flashed at the corner of his eye as the boy’s bicycle rolled away, after the girl, down the drive.
     
    It wasn’t until much later, at three, when he got up to let in the Home Help, that he noticed the door to Daphne’s room was open.
    ‘Coming!’ he called to the Home Help, making his way toclose it. So the girl had gone in. She’d had a look around. Nothing had been moved, he didn’t think. The Home Help knocked again and Donald noticed that there was something different about one of the dolls. Its head had been turned towards the door. It was a doll with