Mad Worlds Read Online Free PDF Page A

down.
    The door opened. Mattie. He looked enquiringly at Elsie.
    â€œHer husband went all funny and chased her with a knife. He’s still in their house – number 90. She can’t go back and she’s worried sick about him.”
    Mattie scratched his head. “Maybe I should ring the police, see if they can help?” He looked at Heather.
    Still shaking, though less violently, she nodded. She hated the idea, but couldn’t think of any better course. John might harm himself.
    â€œCan you mind the shop then, Elsie?”
    â€œYes. Nearly asleep, m’dear,” Elsie whispered, handing back the child and closing the door quietly behind her.
    Shaken up, but regaining control of herself, Heather cradled Becky in her arms. A sleeping little angel!
    Mattie was using the phone on the wall in the far corner of the room. With his back to her, he was obviously trying to keep his voice down. But she heard snatches. “Mad… with a knife… 90 Green Drive… here with the bairn.”
    Mattie replaced the receiver and turned to Heather. “They’ll be right round, and they’re sending a mental man to see your husband. I’ll join Elsie. She’ll be back through soon.” He returned to the shop, leaving the door ajar.
    She continued to rock Becky. What was the ‘mental man’ – a psychiatrist?
    Suddenly an image of John with the knife blocked out all else. Could he kill her – and Becky? Her eyes were blurring, her face moistening. Might he use the knife on himself? He’d looked wild and dishevelled. Said he’d gone for a swim in the river. He couldn’t swim! So what was he doing there? Did he mean to drown?
    â€œJohn,” she whispered aloud. “My rock.” Yes, through her depression he had been – tending to Becky each restless night. In the summer, he’d kept up the builder’s labouring work to bring in cash. What energy, in contrast to her apathetic negative state – but not too surprising from a guy whose approach to college was burning the candle at both ends. And when he started teaching, he’d spent hours telling her about every child in his class – their likes and dislikes, and problems he was picking up. She’d known what he was talking about, yet, uncaring, could barely pretend to listen.
    Voices in the shop. Mental man? Holding Becky close, she crept to the door and listened. No. Mrs Allen at number 86? She returned to the sofa and her musings.
    She must have been awful to live with after the birth. That whole experience, from the dreaded caesarean on, was seismic, and for a while she struggled through a cloud of gloom.
    When some months back, the cloud began to lift, and she could experience joy in caring for Becky and tackling housework, she noticed John had changed. He was jumpy and distant and spent all his time preparing lessons. It stung to get the brush-off when she asked what was wrong.
    She’d soon decided to stop questioning him. He was stressed, under pressure. And she wanted to concentrate her resurgent energies on bonding with her child.
    Then Easter, and his going for work-outs and runs. “This exercise is shaking me up. Olympics next, eh?” he surprised her with one day. She’d thrilled to see a glimmer of a smile.
    â€œPoliceman’s here, outside the shop, m’dear.” Elsie was back. “Says there’s others, watching your house front and back.” She held up a jar of baby food and smiled. “I know what you get for Becky. All right?”
    Heather nodded gratefully and handed Becky over. “Can I use your lav?”
    â€œOf course, m’dear. Out the back door, on your left. It’s not posh.”
    Relieved of discomfort, Heather stopped by the kitchen sink and looked through to the room. Becky, cradled by Elsie, was gulping down the spoonfuls. Nice. Elsie, her white curls dancing as she crooned to Becky, would have been a fine