On Chasing Brad Through Purgatory Read Online Free PDF Page A

the collar; held it so tightly that its forepaws no longer touched the ground.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, “no hawkers or …”
    I wondered what might have come next. Probably beggars though she was too polite to say it. It obviously couldn’t have been Jehovah’s Witnesses or encyclopedia salesmen or double-glazing representatives. At least I hoped not—for their sakes.
    â€œBut if you wait a minute,” she said, “I could go and make you a cheese sandwich.”
    â€œThat’s very kind but I’m really not here to ask for handouts.”
    She was impressed by my voice as I had hoped she would be. And perhaps also by my face now that she had heard my voice. If it hadn’t been for that shattered tumbler my face might well have been black-eyed and badly bruised; but to judge from my hands and legs and feet death seemed mercifully to have got rid of all such marks of injury. Had it also got rid of the need for food I now wondered briefly, at her mention of a sandwich. I thought that probably it hadn’t: I could in fact have fancied a cheese sandwich or more particularly the cooked breakfast which Brad and I had usually allowed ourselves on a Sunday. Not that in any case, I remembered, we’d have had much time for any cooked breakfast this morning.
    Also while I’d been approaching the house and feeling somewhat nervous it had occurred to me I’d like a pee. But then the dog had barked so there was no longer any question of my simply stepping up behind a tree or bush. Anyway the urgency had now departed.
    â€œThen how may I help?”
    â€œI’m sorry to be a nuisance,” I said, “but in the small hours of this morning there was a car accident across the road. I’m wondering if by any chance you—”
    â€œYes we did!” she said. “My God! It was horrific. That bang … we almost thought the world had ended!”
    â€œEsther what is it?” A male voice from above.
    â€œSomeone inquiring about the accident,” she called back though scarcely turning her head. “All right Rufus please stop. You can stop now.” She relaxed her hold upon the dog’s collar and the animal stood properly on its four legs. It made a sound that was either one of compliance or of disappointment or possibly both.
    Her balding rather squat and jowly husband (I assumed) with grey bristles in his ears and sleep in his eyes, having descended the remainder of the stairs, now came to take a look at the person who was making these inquiries. He wore blue silk pyjamas and black leather slippers. I said quickly, “I have to apologize for my appearance but it’s a long story.”
    â€œWhat do you need to know about the accident?”
    To be candid, I could have said, I haven’t the slightest idea. But then somehow I managed to find the right words.
    â€œI knew the man who was driving.”
    â€œOh God!” said the woman.
    â€œThe poor devil,” said her husband.
    â€œWould you like to come in?” asked the woman. They all moved aside to make room—although Rufus, until his mistress yanked him hurriedly away, stuck an upwardly inquiring nose under the bottom of the raincoat. I wiped my feet on the doormat but still left damp prints across the varnished floor. They led me into their kitchen and towards a scrubbed deal table flanked by wooden benches. Two filled cups and saucers waited on a small tray. It was the husband who fetched another cup and brought the teapot from the stove. It seemed almost farcical to be answering his questions to do with milk and sugar. (But that’s exactly what I meant Brad. We’re dead yet life goes on. In all its mundanity. Be truthful now—that can’t be right! Surely?)
    â€œDid you know him well?” the husband asked.
    â€œYes. Very. Brad was in every way my closest friend.”
    And let them make what they liked of that. We had never been ones