Empty World Read Online Free PDF

a half miles across the Marsh to Winchelsea. As he climbed the steep hill to the town gate a car was travelling erratically down. At one point it was heading straight for him. He found it fairly easy to get out of the way—then watched it crash into the fence, ten yards below, and hang there, suspended over the drop.
    He went back to look more closely. It had one occupant, the driver, a desiccated ancient he barely recognized as Mr. Behrens, a middle-aged friend of his grandparents. There were no signs of injury, but he was dead.
    Since there was nothing he could do, Neil resumed his climb. Winchelsea always had an empty look compared with most places, but the emptiness this afternoon was almost tangible. The day was warm and grey, and one or two large spots of rain splashed as he went along the High Street. The few shops were closed. There was no sound except a lazy twitter of birds. As he passed an open window he caught from within the sickly sweet smell of corruption. A week ago he would not have known it; now he recognized it instantly.
    He let himself into the house and called toannounce his arrival. His grandfather came into the hall from the sitting room. He had had the fever a week before, and was plainly dying. Neil had thought of asking if there were anything he should do about Mr. Behrens, but could not. The body would be found soon enough, and put in the truck that went daily to Rye with the small town’s quota of corpses.
    Grandpa went through to the kitchen, and Neil followed.
    â€œYour grandmother’s not too well.” He gestured helplessly at a pile of new potatoes, partly scrubbed. “I was going to make supper for you, but . . .”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Neil said. “Don’t worry. I don’t feel hungry.”
    â€œYou must eat.” His voice was feebly emphatic. “Keep your strength up.”
    â€œI’ll do something. Can I get something for you, Grandpa? Or Grandma?”
    â€œNo, but. . . . Look after her, will you? It won’t be long. I didn’t call Dr Ruston: no point. We know what it is this time.”
    He put a hand unsteadily to the corner of the kitchen table, and sat on one of the stools. Looking up at Neil, he said:
    â€œNo complaint, really, for either of us. We’ve had a long time, and it will be close together. Your grandmother would be lost on her own. But I worry about you.”
    There seemed no point in denials. Neil said:
    â€œDon’t worry. I’m all right.”
    â€œYou’re more alone than most . . . after what’s happened. But at least things are in order. Penstable in Rye has the details—wills and all that.”
    Penstable was his grandfather’s solicitor. Neil did not speak. His grandfather said:
    â€œI suppose Penstable will go, too, if he hasn’t already. But one of the juniors will sort it out. It’s fairly simple—everything goes to you.”
    He paused. “You’ll be quite well off. It’s controlled till you’re twenty, but I’ve left instructions to them not to be unreasonable.” He paused again, breathing heavily. “The main thing is that you’ll have enough for a good education—university’s an expensive business nowadays. I hope you’ll go into a decent profession. You’ll want something more than money.”
    Neil had been listening with numb acquiescence, but said now:
    â€œStop it!”
    He was angry with something or someone, but did not know what or whom. His grandfather said:
    â€œI’m sorry, Neil. It’s hard for you.”
    He took the old man gently by the arm; anger had given way to numbness again. He said:
    â€œCome through to the sitting room, and I’ll make us a pot of tea. Tinned milk, I’m afraid.”
    His grandfather let himself be led and settled into his armchair. The television set came on, signalling the end of another power cut; but the screen