Falling Sideways Read Online Free PDF Page A

cat?’
    Trying not to shudder too visibly, David said no, he hadn’t.
    â€˜I have,’ replied Honest John. ‘I got loads of cats; like, you know how they leave their hairs all over everything? It’d cost a fortune feeding ’em, if it wasn’t for the occasional – well, you know, in the end it all comes down to your quality control, doesn’t it?’
    David had already come to the conclusion that he didn’t like Honest John terribly much. He hadn’t liked his brother, either. The thought that even the best possible outcome to this escapade would result in these people being his in-laws was almost enough to give him the courage to run away.
    â€˜Right,’ said Honest John, picking the hair off the slide with his tweezers before David could say anything else. ‘Off we go, then. I’ll heat up number six and we’ll be away.’
    So that was that: so little thought, so little consideration of the implications, before bringing another life into the world. Just allowing oneself to be carried away by a moment’s impulse, the urge not to give offence by saying no, the irresistible force of a good idea at the time. In other words, pretty much normal behaviour, for a human being.
    â€˜Um,’ David said. ‘How long does it take, usually?’
    â€˜Depends,’ replied Honest John, as he fiddled with some controls. ‘I mean, there’s all sorts of things, like your gel consistency, your pick-up speed and response time, your thread density. It can vary a hell of a lot.’
    â€˜Ah.’
    â€˜Could be as little as four and a half hours,’ Honest John went on, ‘could be as long as seven, you just can’t tell. Now then,’ he added, pressing a button. The tank lit up, like a frogspawn-green light bulb. ‘There you go. Just got to wait and see.’
    Now, David thought, would most definitely be a good time to wake up. Please?
    â€˜So,’ Honest John continued, ‘you can hang around here if you really want to, or you can bugger off somewhere and I’ll let you know when it’s done.’
    David nodded. ‘I’ll do that, then,’ he said. ‘Um, do I pay you now, or . . .?’
    Honest John picked up his mug, saw that it was empty and put it down again. ‘Half now,’ he said, ‘half when we slop it out. Cash preferred,’ he added.
    â€˜Ah. I’ve just realised, I haven’t got that much cash on me. I can give you a cheque—’
    Honest John gave him a scornful look, as if David was standing on his doorstep at nine a.m. on a Sunday morning trying to interest him in The Gospel According to the Easter Bunny. ‘How much have you got on you, then?’
    David pulled out his wallet. ‘Forty pounds,’ he said. ‘Oh, just a moment, I’ve got some change . . .’ Finally, counting in all the fivepences and tuppences and pennies, he was able to make up forty-six pounds, seventeen pence. Honest John wrote him a receipt on the back of a vintage Chinese takeaway rice-carton lid – recd on a/c 1 cloan £46-17 , and the date, and a squiggle like the edited highlights of a tachograph chart. Clearly they didn’t call him Honest John for nothing.
    David took the rectangle of card and put it solemnly in his inside pocket. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘thank you very much. It’s been—’
    â€˜Hang on,’ Honest John interrupted. ‘What about your phone number, then? So I can let you know when she’s done?’
    â€˜Oh,’ David said. ‘Sorry.’
    Once again, here was an opportunity for escape: partial escape only, true enough, but if he wrote down a false phone number, how would Honest John ever find him again? He could just walk through the door into the night air, forget any of this had ever happened; it would still be his fault, but he probably wouldn’t get the blame.
    Someone else could