Ten Second Staircase Read Online Free PDF Page A

direction—what was wrong with them? Their sheer lack of organisation made her feel sick.
    All John May saw was an ordinary London street.
    An African shop, fortressed by a row of red plastic laundry baskets, its windows banked with fibre-optic lamps, mobile phone covers, signs promising Internet access and cheap fares to faraway townships. A dim, carpeted amusement arcade filled with pulsing bulbs, where a single elderly woman sat mechanically feeding coins into a machine as big as a telephone booth. A betting office with emerald windows depicting idealised race scenes, litter and losers framed in its dark doorway. A McDonald's truck as vast as an ocean liner, with suppurating burgers the size of paddling pools printed along its sides.
    Everywhere April looked, fierce colours jumped into her eyeline: cyans, scarlets, heliotropes, garish shapes trapped in the glare of the warm morning sun. Even the grey pavements were unnaturally bright. Rimes of dirt crusted the battered rooftops like dulled diamonds. The buildings looked old and exhausted with overuse.
    'Well, here goes.' She took a deep breath and slipped her hand into his. Then she stepped out into the street.
    Agoraphobia had been April's latest response to the loss of her mother. Nearly six months earlier, following glimmers of improvement and a positive doctor's report, she had been recommended as a candidate for a new law enforcement training initiative. The Chief Association of Police Officers was inviting nonprofessionals to work alongside detectives, in an exercise designed to bridge the widening gulf between police and public. It had seemed an ideal way for May to protect his granddaughter while allowing her to rediscover some independence, but she had suffered a relapse, retreating further into the shadows of her bleakly pristine flat. May sometimes felt that he was cursed; although his estranged son lived half a world away, his family suffered from similar phobias.
    He released her hand and watched as she walked unsteadily to the centre of the pavement. 'That's it,' he encouraged, 'keep going, don't stop to think, you're doing fine.'
    Neither of them saw the running schoolboy.
    He slammed into April, spinning her down onto the pavement, and skidded around the corner before either of them had time to react. As the detective loped forward and helped April to her feet, she looked around in confusion. 'My bag, he's taken it. My credit cards—everything.'
    May reached the corner knowing that it was too late for him to catch up. The boy had dashed across the traffic-dense road, into a crowd of market traders gathered beneath a bridge. He was home free. May called in the theft almost without thinking, relaying the description of the stolen bag, keeping watch on April as her face crumpled and she doubled over.
    'Please, April, you mustn't let something like this beat you,' he pleaded, holding the phone to his chest and reaching for her with his free hand. 'It could happen to anyone. Are you all right?'
    Clutching a tissue to her face, she slowly rose, barely able to catch her breath.
    'Just tell me what was in the bag. I'm sure we can replace—'
    He was amazed to see that she was caught in the throes of helpless laughter.
    'The first time I step out of the flat in months and I get bloody mugged. The little bastard.' She leaned on him, still laughing, fighting to catch her breath. 'For heaven's sake, let's get to the PCU before something else happens.'
    'Are you sure?'
    'After this?' She wiped laughter from her eyes. 'Where did you park? You've probably been clamped by now.'
    'You mean you still want to come?' May was taken aback.
    'You're joking. Think I'm going to let kids like that get away with murder? Just tell me what I have to do.'
    This was the April he remembered and loved. It was as though the pain of the last few months had been folded away like an awning, revealing her old self beneath. He had no idea how long her newfound strength would remain, but was