My Brilliant Idea (And How It Caused My Downfall) Read Online Free PDF Page A

shut, then pop it back in the bag and shove my chair out from the table. “Wish me luck,” I say, and I get to my feet.
    â€œYou’ll need it,” Sandy replies, and I walk off into the storm.

6
    According to my grandpa, the best way to do something scary is to do it without hesitating. One quick move. He mainly applies his philosophy to removing plasters when you’re a kid, but he says it doesn’t matter whether it’s a plaster or jumping out of a plane—it’s all the same. One quick move. Maybe he’s right. It’s not how I decide to go about this thing with Elsie Green, though. Instead, I pull out the chair beside hers without disturbing her bizarre rapture, then sit down quietly and clear my throat a little bit.
    â€œLook at him!” she says, and at first I think she’s talking about me, telling me I’ve got a nerve approaching her like this. But the madness that follows soon convinces me I’m wrong.
    â€œHave you ever seen such unspoiled virtue?” she asks. “And such modesty? He makes me want to live a better life. Look at how he blushes. Like the petal of a rose. He makes me want to do something heroic.”
    I disguise my voice a little bit, in the hope she won’t know it’s me, and ask her who we’re talking about. I have the idea that if we’re already having a conversation before she realizes who she’s talking to, she might not just get up and walk off at the first opportunity.
    â€œDrew Thornton,” she says. “See how his hair cascades to his shoulders? And his eyes! Oh my god.” Then things take a turn for the worse, if you can get your head round that. She starts asking me if I can imagine the ecstasy of seeing such innocence disrobed. Something like that. Something that means can I imagine him in the buff, anyway.
    â€œI’d give up twenty years of my life to bear witness to that,” she says. “Wouldn’t you?”
    â€œWell . . .” I say, “probably not, really.” And I’m finding the whole thing so bizarre, I even forget to sound like someone else. Elsie turns round then and sees who she’s dealing with.
    â€œYou!” she splutters.
    â€œHi,” I say, but she doesn’t reply. She stacks all her cutlery and lunch debris onto her tray and starts getting to her feet. I can tell I’ve only got a few seconds to save things, and I panic. A line I came across earlier, flipping through her book, suddenly appears in the front bit of my brain, and before I even really know what’s happening I hear it coming out of my mouth.
    â€œI come on an errand . . .” I tell her. Somehow, this seems to slow her down. She’s still up on her feet, but her hands pause at the side of the tray and she doesn’t walk away.
    â€œSent by whom?” she asks me.
    I struggle. Another line pops into my head, but I’m not even sure where this one came from. I don’t know whether it’s from the book or not.
    â€œBy the king . . .” I say.
    Not good.
    â€œWhat the
hell
are you talking about?” she says. “Are you mental?”
    And there it is: I’ve been called mental by Elsie Green. Me. By her. It doesn’t really bear thinking about. Maybe if I hadn’t been in such a panic, I would just have said Drew Thornton, and maybe I could have woven something out of that. I try one last desperate line of attack. Off with the sticking plaster.
    â€œI’ve just come to apologize, Elsie,” I say. “That’s all. I really didn’t mean to mess up your plans that time. And I’ve brought you a present.”
    I take the book out of its bag and lay it down on the table beside her tray.
    â€œVery nice,” she says, disinterestedly. “Whatever you’re after, forget it.”
    â€œI’m not after anything,” I tell her. “Just trying to make amends.” I reach out and flip the