Merely Players Read Online Free PDF Page A

He couldn’t catch a word of what anyone said beyond the close-fitting door of the bedroom, so he amused himself by imagining the tussles being conducted between adults and children. Five minutes of this was enough; it was like trying to follow a play without the dialogue. He switched on the radio and listened to John Humphrys making his latest political victim squirm in the ten past eight interview. It was like a brisk stage exchange, he thought, with Humphrys scarcely allowing the minister to complete a sentence before he refuted a statistic or provided a less favourable one of his own.
    He didn’t know why the politicians put up with it. But probably both Humphrys and his victim had agreed the main lines the interview was going to take before it started. Bit like improvised drama really, where they gave you a situation and invited you to improvise the dialogue. He’d never liked that very much; others had always been quicker thinking and more inventive than he was. But he couldn’t see the point of it. Written dialogue, with all the time for thought and revisions, was always going to be better, wasn’t it?
    His reflections were interrupted by the sudden shrill of the phone beside his bed. He waited for someone else in the house to answer it. When no one did, he switched off the radio, snatched up the receiver and rapped out his number.
    â€˜Adam? Is that you?’
    He sighed, already irritated. His elder brother, by three years. The dutiful plodder of the family, whose rectitude felt to Adam like a constant rebuke to his own lifestyle. ‘Of course it’s me, Luke. You should know my voice, after forty-two years.’
    â€˜I’m at Dad’s house, Adam. He’s not well. You should come and see him.’
    â€˜I will, as soon as I can make the time.’
    â€˜You said that last time. That was now five weeks ago.’
    â€˜It can’t be.’
    â€˜Five weeks yesterday, mate.’ An attempt at the old intimacy which had long since deserted them.
    â€˜Trust you to be counting. You don’t seem to realize how busy my schedule—’
    â€˜He’s ill, Adam, and he’s been waiting for you to come. He doesn’t complain, but you can see when he’s disappointed. Or you could if you were ever around.’
    â€˜Look, if all you want to do is to—’
    â€˜I think he’s had another heart attack. Only a small one, if indeed it is one at all. I’m waiting for the doctor to come now.’
    â€˜All right. Give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can do.’ He put the phone down before Luke could speak again. He had a free morning and he knew what he was going to do, but there was no reason to let his brother think it was easy. Luke might do the bulk of the caring, but he must realize that Adam had a lifestyle which didn’t allow the domestic complications that the less eminent had to cope with.
    He gave it seven minutes, heard in the sports news that another Premiership football manager had been sacked, then sat up and picked up the phone. ‘I’ve managed to reschedule this morning’s appointments. I hope you’re not exaggerating, because it wasn’t easy.’
    â€˜I think you’ll be glad you did it, when you see Dad.’
    Luke’s voice had restraint and dignity, and for a fleeting moment Adam envied those qualities. ‘I’ll be there by about half past ten. You can tell the old bugger I’m coming.’
    He levered himself out of bed, made for the bathroom and the power shower, then changed his mind. He slipped on his dressing gown, making sure that the cord was securely tied; you had to be more careful about your dress, now that there was a nanny permanently in the house. He went downstairs and found the children where he had calculated they would be, with coats on at the front door.
    â€˜Give Dad a hug before you go!’ he called from the stairs. They turned and ran to him,