Martyn Pig Read Online Free PDF Page B

watching it.
    So, Wednesday night. Eight-thirty. In the front room. The curtains were closed. A cold orange light was flickering behind the false coal of the electric fire. I was sitting on the floor with my back against the settee and Dad was in his armchair, drinking. I didn’t know how many he’d had, but I didn’t think it was that many because he kept on making stupid jokes about Morse, trying to be funny. Stage One. It was annoying, but I just sat there trying to ignore him in the hope that he’d get bored and shut up, or go down the pub and leave me in peace. But he didn’t. He kept on. Piping up every other minute with his pathetic comments.
    â€˜Look at the state of him! He’s getting a bit fat, isn’t he?’
    â€˜Coppers don’t drive Jags!’
    â€˜No wonder he’s so miserable, listening to that bloody awful music all the time.’
    He just wouldn’t stop. On and on and on. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t hear what was going on. I was losing the plot.
    Then he started with his Lewis thing.
    I expect you know who Lewis is, but, just in case you don’t, he’s Morse’s sidekick. Sergeant Lewis. A bit of a plodder, in contrast to Morse’s unconventional genius. Once or twice in every episode Morse calls out Lewis’s name: ‘
Lewis!
’ Kind of a catch phrase. For some inexplicable reason, Dad always found this hilarious, and whenever it happened he started calling out too, calling out in a stupid imitation-Morse voice: ‘
Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is!
’ And then he’d laugh like mad at his own incredible wit. The first time he did it, it was almost amusing. Almost, but not quite. But after hearing it about a hundred times since, it just made me sick. Why? Why did he do it? Over and over again.
Why?
    So there I was, sitting on the floor, leaning towards the television, trying to keep track of what was going on. Morse was in his office, sitting at his desk, pondering, frowning, trying to work out whodunit. Dreamy music was playing in the background. Suddenly he sat up straight and blinked. Something had occurred to him. Something crucial. He got up and opened his door and called down the corridor for Lewis: ‘
Lew-is!
’ And then Dad started. ‘
Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is
!’ He wouldn’t stop. ‘
Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is
!’ And all the time he was snorting with laughter as if it was the funniest thing in the world. On the television Morse was talking to Lewis, explaining his crucial idea, but I couldn’t hear a thing. All I could hear was Dad’s crazy braying in my ear: ‘
Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew-is! Lew
—’
    â€˜SHUT UP!’
    I’d got to my feet and was facing him across the room. ‘For God’s sake, Dad, just shut up! It’s not funny, it’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Why can’t you just shut your mouth and let me watch the bloody television for once?’
    He stared at me, stunned. I stared back at him. He put his beer can down on the table. ‘
What
did you say?’
    â€˜Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
    My anger had gone. I turned away.
    I sensed, rather than heard, the movement behind me, and I turned just in time to see him bearing down on me with his fist raised above his head and drunken madness burning in his eyes.
    My reaction was automatic. As I jumped to one side the downward surge of his fist missed my head by a whisker. Then, as his momentum carried him past me, I shoved him in the back. That’s all it was, a shove. Just a shove. An instinctive defensive gesture. No more. I didn’t hit him or anything. All I did was push him away. I barely
touched
him. He must have been off balance, I suppose. Too drunk to stay on his feet. Legless. I don’t know ... All I know for sure is that he flew across the room and smacked his head into the fireplace wall then fell to the hearth and