Epitaph Read Online Free PDF Page A

ran a hand through his hair and listened to the other two messages.
    The first was from a call centre. Something about his mobile phone and getting extra minutes. He deleted it. The last was from another work mate (or, rather, ex-work mate) offering commiserations about his redundancy. Paul deleted that, too.
    He remained perched on the edge of the leather sofa for what seemed like an eternity, wondering what the hell to do next.
    And what are the thrilling choices? Ring your mum and tell her how you’ve lost your job and how deep in the shit you are? Or call one of the others?
    Neither of those two possibilities interested him in his current mood.
    His most immediate choice came down to whether or not to stand up again or simply flop back on the sofa. He hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, he reminded himself; he really should eat. However, he didn’t feel like cooking himself anything and he couldn’t be bothered to go out and get a takeaway. Perhaps he’d have a sandwich.
    So, what’s the decision?
    He decided to get changed. Take off his work clothes and put on something more comfortable.
    Have a shower. Try and wash away the dirt of the day.
    He wished he could wash away the events of the day as well. Wash them away and start again as if nothing had happened. As if this day had never happened. Continue as if life was still good and had meaning. Carry on as if he still had some hope.
    Paul shook his head again and got to his feet. He wandered across to the television set and switched it on, standing there switching channels aimlessly. There was news on a couple of them. A reality show of some description or another. The obligatory celebrity-orientated programmes on two others. Paul tutted and switched to a cable channel. There was something on about the Second World War (there always was on that channel). He left that on. Just so there was some sound inside the flat. Purely and simply because he wanted more inside his head than just the sound of his own thoughts.
    He was about to move towards the bedroom and the bathroom beyond it when the phone rang.
    ‘Fuck it,’ Paul said, waving a hand in the direction of the ringing contraption. The answering machine could get it.
    He heard his own-recorded voice intone:
    ‘Leave a message after the beep.’
    Whoever was calling could wait.
    However, when he heard who it was, he realised that they couldn’t.

9
     
    Laura Hacket felt as if she was the only person left in the world.
    As she started up the exit ramp of the underpass she glanced around towards the trees and bushes on either side and towards the open area beyond.
    There was no one there. No other children playing among the trees and none on the open area of greenery she could see. There were usually some boys kicking a ball about or running after each other, shouting and yelling. But not today. The nearest houses were fully one hundred yards from the underpass, reachable by the pathway that she now walked along.
    Laura didn’t know why she felt nervous, she didn’t know what made her feel uncomfortable about the footsteps behind her. It was a beautiful day, the sun was still shining and she was almost clear of the underpass, out of the gloom below ground and back out into the brilliance above it once more. And yet still she could not find the courage to turn and look over her shoulder. She could still hear the footsteps, moving at the same pace as hers. When she speeded up so did they. When she slowed down, they did likewise.
    That was what had made Laura nervous.
    If someone had been wandering through the underpass behind her and wanted to get to wherever it was they were going then surely they wouldn’t have stopped walking when she did. Would they? Why would they do that? If they were going home or visiting someone or walking to the shops or whatever they were doing, they would do it at their own pace, wouldn’t they? Not copy her movements, her pace.
    Laura swallowed nervously and wondered what her best