Playing Around Read Online Free PDF Page A

what was so fantastic about it. In the six months or so that she had been here, what had she seen? The Mile End Road, damp washing, and nasty things in formaldehyde left on the bathroom shelf. Oh, and don’t forget the library, she’d seen that as well. Totally thrilling.
    She blew out a long puff of air and smacked the iron down on the board in frustration.
    What a swinger she was. They should do a feature on her in the papers.
    She picked up the iron again and posed like a fashion model. ‘Miss Jill Walker of Twycehurst’, she said, simpering into an imaginary film camera, ‘is taking London by storm. You will have noticed the faint sheen of grease on her hair that she has tried to disguise with a sprinkle of talc. This is not due to the lousy hot water supply in her flat, but is a statement of the very latest style . Soon, every dolly bird will be wearing theirs just like it. Probably even greasier and positively caked with powder! Asked about her constant appearances at all the trendiest nightclubs, on the arms of Mr David Bailey, Miss Walker replied—’
    The sound of the doorbell – even that had a dull, monotone buzz – jolted her back to reality. ‘Coming,’ she said, hurriedly getting rid of the pose and the iron.
    She opened the door, forgetting, as usual, her mother’s anxious warnings about the supposed terrors of city life and her instructions that she should never, ever, do so without first peering through the letterbox to find out who was there.
    ‘Hello. Er …’
    ‘Martin.’
    ‘Yes, Martin. Of course. Er … Hello.’
    ‘I came about the books?’
    ‘Books?’
    After a few moments’ awkward silence, it dawned on Martin, that George, the bloke in his group who had assured him that Jill had every book anyone could possibly want – she was loaded apparently, a rich farmer’s daughter – and that he, George, had asked her personally if Martin could borrow some of them and she had said ‘Why not?’, was maybe exaggerating a little bit. Or, more likely, he was a bloody, rotten liar who had just put him, Martin, in a really embarrassing situation. He’d kill the lying toe-rag when he saw him on Monday.
    And then there was all that petrol he’d used. He could have put that towards the blue checked Ben Sherman shirt he’d set his heart on.
    ‘Sorry, Martin, you’ll have to explain.’
    Martin ran his fingers through his short fair hair. ‘It was George.’
    ‘You’ve lost me already.’
    ‘Red-haired bloke, bit of a know-all.’
    Jill was none the wiser. ‘Look, why don’t you come in and have a quick cup of coffee? I could do with a break.’
    Martin was sitting in a battered utility armchair, with threadbare upholstery and a broken spring, by a spitting, feeble gas fire, sipping chalky instant coffee, facing Jill Walker, who was perched on a similarly dodgy chair. And he was in heaven.
    He had known her for less than ten minutes, but Martin had decided that Jill Walker was the nicest, sweetest, funniest girl he had met in his entire life. Not exactly the prettiest maybe, although she certainly had something really special about her: a lovely face, rather than a beautiful one, and flicked-up, dark hair that was sort of cute, like Emma Peel’s in
The Avengers
. Gorgeous. But whoever she looked like, she was definitely the nicest, and poshest, girl he had ever met. And she also owned more books than anyone he had ever met before either, although she seemed to think she had hardly any compared with what she was used to at home. George appeared to be right about one thing at least: Jill Walker was obviously loaded.
    ‘Honestly, Martin, take them.’
    He looked at the pile of books at his feet. ‘But you might need them.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Jill curled her legs under her, and took another mouthful of coffee. ‘I’m thinking about changing courses. Probably colleges as well. So I’ve not bothered even starting the latest essay.’ She flashed her eyebrows. ‘Or the one