Dying to Write Read Online Free PDF

Rum I can understand. Continental chocolate. Amaretti biscuits. Double cream. But liquid glucose?’
    I couldn’t help.
    â€˜Thank God there’s this wonderful delicatessen down the main street. Goodness knows how they keep open in times like these, but they seemed to be doing a reasonable trade. Ah! Excuse me if I sing “Happy Birthday!”’
    â€˜I’m sorry?’
    She tapped the odometer: all the figures were rolling round.
    I not only excused her, I joined in. One thousand miles must constitute a car’s birthday, surely. And I certainly hoped it would be happy. I decided to postpone the Courtney business till after lunch.
    Lunchtime didn’t seem especially auspicious, however. Although there was no fixed hour, most of us had gathered in the dining room by one. The talk was general and subdued. Then Gimson strode in, smoking.
    Shazia stared silently at his cigarette.
    He moved it to his side so that it was level with my eyes. I waved the smoke away, not so much elegantly as ostentatiously.
    â€˜Let me tell you, my good woman, I shall smoke where and when I like.’
    â€˜So long as the where isn’t here and the when isn’t now, that’s fine by me,’ I said.
    â€˜I think tobacco makes a man smell masculine,’ Nyree observed.
    â€˜Hmph,’ I said, unconvinced.
    â€˜My good woman, you’ve obviously no idea that nicotine is addictive.’
    â€˜But if you’re a doctor –’ I didn’t want a row, but I wasn’t going to be anyone’s good woman.
    â€˜I am Consultant General Surgeon at St Jude’s,’ he said, capital letters much in evidence. ‘The London teaching hospital.’
    I hate people who stress ‘London’ like that. An even nastier, dirtier city than Birmingham, if you ask me. Full of people who smoke at meals, no doubt.
    â€˜If you’re a
surgeon
,’ I corrected myself, ‘you must have seen the likely consequences of your addiction.’
    â€˜But if it’s an addiction, darling, you can’t give up. That’s what addiction means.’
    â€˜I know what addiction means,’ I snapped. Foolishly.
    â€˜Ah, yes, your cousin was an addict, wasn’t he?’ She had her mouth open to tell everyone his name.
    â€˜Yes.’ I overrode her. ‘Yes. And he conquered his addiction. Triumphantly.’
    There was a movement behind me. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Gimson, but you seem to have forgotten our rules,’ said Kate in a wonderfully majestic voice.
    Gimson started to protest, but contented himself with an arrogant movement of his upper lip. Then he condescended to open the french door to let his smoke out.
    Someone out there was playing Bach.
    â€˜What the hell’s that racket?’ Gimson stepped back in, but left the hand holding the cigarette outside.
    â€˜A viola?’ I suggested.
    â€˜Must be Garth Kerwin’s,’ said Kate. ‘I saw him unloading yesterday. Everything but the kitchen sink. Three cases, a word processor and a Mafia machinegun case.’
    â€˜And the biggest ghettoblaster I’ve seen outside Handsworth,’ I added.
    â€˜Kerwin? That idiot who was holding forth about animals? What about humans, for God’s sake?’
    â€˜I think he’s rather sweet,’ said Nyree, looking at her feet.
    Sweet! That wasn’t the word that I associated with him. But I was intrigued. Learning any instrument takes the sort of commitment I hadn’t associated with Toad. And bringing it with him to Eyre House confirmed that.
    There are times when I shame myself with my hasty judgements. I would clearly have to overcome my repugnance and get to know him better.

Chapter Three
    On Monday afternoon we had individual appointments with one of the tutors to help us choose our projects for the course. I was to see Kate at three.
    I thought as a teacher I’d be inured to the nerves others might feel at such a prospect.