Rainstone Fall Read Online Free PDF Page A

up anyway. Smoke from the stove, blue light from the plastic tarpaulin and the flapping noise it makes, it’s enough to drive you potty.’ Annis did her mysterious ministrations and mumbled her invocations and the Landy burbled into life.
    Some unexplained bottleneck in Broad Street had slowed traffic to a crawl. A number 7 bus was shipping water as it took on a few bedraggled passengers at the corner with Green Street. And there he was. ‘Look. See the guy about to get on the bus with the hood up and the shoulder bag? That’s James Lane, the guy I’m supposed to be following.’ It looked like the same few people who had left from Larkhall in the morning were coming back on the same bus. I recognized the snotty kid and his young mother and the bloke in the raincoat.
    ‘I’ll let the bus pull out then, shall I?’
    ‘Don’t bother, I know where he’s going and the bus’ll only go round in circles.’ I settled down to a good moan about traffic jams, the state of public transport, the price of roof repairs, the apathetic police response to my car crisis, the freak weather and that bit of hard skin on my middle finger that annoyed me. In fact the unusually violent bouncing action Annis got out of the Landy as she flung it down the track to the house made it completely impossible to chew at it. ‘Whehehewow what aaaare youhoohoo dooin?’ I managed.
    She turned into the yard and scraped to a halt by the outbuildings. ‘I was trying to shut you up, Honeysett, you’ve done nothing but moan from one end to the other. I come all the way to pick you up and you’re trying to bore me rigid in return. What do you have to say for yourself?’
    ‘Sorry, let me make it up to you,’ I suggested suggestively.
    ‘Mm . . . okay then. Get into the kitchen and fix me a decent lunch. I’ll be in the studio.’

Chapter Three
    ‘Yes, you look utterly ridiculous,’ Annis answered lazily, the duvet drawn up under her chin against the chill of the morning. Her hair was spread invitingly across the pillow and I suddenly felt like taking all this gear off again and getting back in beside her, but duty called.
    ‘What? Ridiculous? Not . . . cool? Stylish? Dashing?’
    ‘Yes, dashing, that’s it,’ she cackled. ‘You look like you’re about to dash off somewhere. Like the Western Front, in one of those biplanes held together with string.’
    ‘Well, that’s all the biker gear there is.’
    ‘I know. But perhaps you should dispense with the goggles. I think Lane might remember you like that: black open-face helmet, long hair, goggles, tatty black leather jacket, gauntlets, jeans and clumpy boots.’
    ‘Well, I don’t have a choice. I either use your Norton or follow him on roller blades. You can’t follow a man on the same minibus more than once unless he’s blind.’
    ‘I know. Just make sure you don’t drop the machine, now that it’s been repaired.’
    A few months back Annis had crashed her 1950s Norton after someone had sabotaged the brakes, landing her in hospital. Both Annis and Norton had been beautifully restored, the bike with the help of the Norton Owners Club, but Annis’s enthusiasm for riding the thing had somewhat diminished. In fact, she hadn’t ridden it since.
    I wasn’t exactly overexcited myself. A fine rain was falling when I wheeled the Norton into the yard, and the air had turned noticeably colder. I had to work the kick-starter only five or six times before the engine fired, which wasn’t at all bad for a fifty-year-old bike that didn’t get used much. The people who restored it had fitted a pair of working exhaust pipes, a not unimportant detail since before the accident it used to sound like a Sherman tank. Even so it was noisy enough.
    I hadn’t ridden a bike for ages but by the time I reached the other end of the valley I had got used to the gear change and the lack of a CD player and could concentrate on other things. How much time was I going to devote to the limping Lane? Several