Fatlands Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the stairs an impressive array of locks presented themselves. I looked at her questioningly.
    â€˜He’s paranoid,’she said. ‘He got burgled last year.’She rang the doorbell. The housekeeper answered. The hall behind her swung up into a wonderful spiralling staircase, shiny dark mahogany banisters against bright white paint. The whole place looked as if she had recently finished licking it with her tongue, not a hint of dust anywhere, no sign that anyone actually lived there at all. Except maybe the houskeeper. She was a nice enough woman, elderly and a little stout, with a strong face and steel-grey hair styled in one of those pensioners-get-it-cheap type perms. She welcomed Mattie with a hug, which the girl did her best to squirm her way out of, but it was clear they had once been sort of pals.
    Mattie stalked off into the living room, a huge double room with windows looking out on to the gardens, and flung her coat and bag on to the sofa in what looked like a blatant attempt to untidy the place. Then she flung herself on top of them. Home sweet home. Even her body language had closed up again. We both watched her from the door, then Mrs Dayley (I kid you not) set off for the kitchen. I trailed after her.
    On a spotless table a tray was already laid, tea with cakes on a boldly designed china service. Classy stuff. Shame about the family.
    â€˜She looks thin,’she said as she clattered about with the kettle.
    â€˜I wouldn’t know,’I replied. ‘I only met her today.’
    She gave a bit of a snort, as if it was my fault. ‘Has she been all right?’
    I assumed she was referring to the eight hours we had spent together. ‘Depends what your expectations are,’I said, then regretted my harshness. ‘She’s been great. Interesting company.’
    â€˜Good. Dr Shepherd’s going to be late.’
    â€˜Ah …’
    â€˜He rang. Asked me to stay on and let you know.’
    â€˜How late?’
    â€˜He said he’ll be back by seven. In time to go the theatre.’
    Wonderful. So much for the end of my day. Then another thought, even worse, struck me. ‘Who’s going to tell her?’She looked at me as if to imply that I was probably earning more than she was. But I had just spent the day perfecting how not to be bullied. ‘I think you know her better than I do.’
    She picked up the tray and pursed her lips. As she was on the way out of the kitchen I said quietly, ‘Can I ask you a question, Mrs Dayley? Mattie’s mother—I mean … how did she leave?’
    She used it to get back at my cowardice. ‘Badly,’she said as she exited.
    I waited in the kitchen. From the other room I heard the murmur of voices, then some clumsy bashing of crockery. That’s the trouble with tea services, break one cup and the whole set is in trouble. Much better just to go for the mugs that come with petrol coupons. A few moments later the housekeeper came in with her coat on. ‘Poor child,’she said, under her breath. Then up at me, ‘I think it’s a crying shame, I really do,’but she sailed outbefore I could inquire as to whose shame exactly. I heard the front door slam after her.
    In the living room Mattie was now sprawled horizontal on the sofa, the television blaring out in front of her, the remote control on her lap. It was an old film, black and white, Bette Davis with an improbably high forehead and a ruff like a gigantic starched doily—the virgin Elizabeth making up to the Earl of Essex.
    â€˜You know it’s only an extra hour,’I said. ‘He’ll still be here in time for the theatre.’She ignored me aggressively. ‘What are you going to see?’
    â€˜A play,’she replied in a voice not dissimilar to the one that Ms Davis would use later to crush the Spanish ambassador.
    â€˜Fine,’I said, mad at her despite myself. I sat down on the chair near by and poured