Portobello Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoulder,
Lance read: What you are doing, co-habiting with a man outside wedlock, is morally wrong and against God's law and you know it. Now, after nine years of sin, you say you have met another man and think of leaving your paramour. Leave him you must if he refuses to marry you. As for the other man you can never enjoy the glory of God's love if you persist in seeing him . . . Lance couldn't help
admiring Uncle Gib's command of language, not to mention being
able to spell all those words. He waited until Uncle Gib had finished
the letter.
    'I want to ask you something.'
    'Can't you see I'm working? You don't know what that is, though,
do you? Not just ordinary work either, God's work. Showing this
bunch of sinners the error of their ways.' Uncle Gib's tone changed
from droning piety to an aggressive bark. 'What is it, then? Come
on, don't beat about the bush.'
    Lance told him.
    'She's got your measure all right, hasn't she? You and them as
are like you. Want me to break the commandment, do you, teach
you how to thieve, teach you the tricks of the trade?'
    'I'm only asking what you think I ought to do.'
    Uncle Gib was a very tall, very thin man whom prosecuting
counsel had once described as looking like the famous statue of
Voltaire. 'The resemblance is purely physical, my Lord,' he said
to the judge and was reprimanded for irrelevance, misguided wit
and trying to be clever. It was true that his piercing eyes, cadaverous
face and emaciated body gave Uncle Gib an intellectual
look. He had very good white teeth, which had miraculously
survived years of prison food and only sporadic cleaning. These
he bared now in what might have been a smile but was probably
a snarl.
    'You've lost a sum of money in Pembridge Crescent, have you?
You was strolling down there with a hundred plus in your pocket
when the wind blew, all them notes flew out and settled in a
little pile on the pavement and you never noticed. Give me a
break.'
    'You reckon it's all notes, do you? That means it's got to be a
round figure, not like eighty pounds forty-two or something. And
it's more than a hundred or else she wouldn't have put the whatyou-
call-it, the high number right up there – I mean like a hundred
and sixty. Maybe it's halfway, like –' Lance had to work it out '–
like a hundred and forty.' That wasn't right. He tried again. 'A
hundred and twenty. Or it could be a hundred and twenty-five.'
He looked helplessly at Uncle Gib.
    The Voltaire lookalike said, 'You're doing fine. Keep at it. Only
don't you forget all the time you're diving deeper and deeper into
sin.'
    'Why d'you reckon she's doing this? Why not just keep the
money?' Lance found it hard to imagine anyone who wasn't in need
of a hundred pounds. 'I mean, she's playing some game, isn't she?'
    'Suppose she's just an honest woman? Didn't think of that, did
you? No, you wouldn't.'
    'Why don't you fuck off?' Lance said, making a quick exit, though
not so quick as to avoid hearing Uncle Gib's bitter reprimands for
his language and threats of unquenchable fire coming down from
heaven.
    His latest mobile had ceased to work after its owner had had
a bar put on it. This hadn't happened until five days had
passed after Lance stole it from the back seat of a car. No doubt
its owner hadn't noticed its absence. People had too much money
for their own good. Anyone who left a mobile inside an unlocked
car deserved all he got. Lance threw the mobile away before
someone told him all it needed was a new Sim card and now he
was obliged to use Uncle Gib's phone. It was a wonder the old
man had one at all. No doubt it had been Auntie Ivy's decision
and she had the phone installed during one of his long periods as
a guest of Her Majesty's government.
    Lance dialled the code, which was shared by his ex-girlfriend,
though, as is the way with exchange codes, in a considerably less
upmarket neighbourhood. The first time he tried he got the engaged
signal, the second time, much later, a woman answered. Just as
he