The Alphabet Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page A

off his head giving you that week off to go to your granny’s party.”
    “He was, actually.”
    Jessica put the folder on the desk beside her. “It’s this new band from West London he’s signed. He wants you to whip up a quick article for the in-store mags.”
    “But I can’t write about them. I haven’t seen them play live yet.”
    “That’s because they haven’t played live yet. Probably never will play live. Don’t even know if they can play live. Here, have a look.”
    Bett took the biogs and photo. Five children in heavy eye makeup sneered at her. If they were hers, she’d tell them to wash that muck off their faces and go and do their homework. “What are they called?”
    “Dogs from Hell. Except Karl calls them Puppies from Hammersmith.”
    Five Go Mad in Mummy’s Makeup, more like it, Bett thought. “What on earth’s Karl thinking this time?”
    “He’s hoping it’ll revive punk. He bought the back catalogue of all these old punk bands, and he wants to give them a kick-along.”
    Bett looked at the photo again. “So they’re angry young musicians?”
    “Oh, very angry,” Jessica laughed. “They’re furious. Cross as two sticks. Haven’t stopped stamping their feet since we signed them.”
    Bett turned the sample tape over, then rattled it, as if that would give her a taste of their music. The tape machine was broken and the CD player was currently propping up a bookshelf. “What do they sound like?”
    Jessica emitted a high-pitched screech, shook her head so her hair flew around, then sang in a guttural voice. “ ‘Ravens in the night, kill the beast, anarchy rules,’ that kind of thing. Except on the first demo they sang an-Archie. As in the man’s name. Isn’t that sweet? They can’t even read.”
    Bett pretended to weep as she opened a new document on her computer screen. As she wrote she started speaking the words aloud in a dull monotone, silently saying good-bye to any final shred of journalistic credibility.
    They’re young, they’re angry, and they’re here. London’s newest music sensation, Dogs from Hell, has arrived with a bang and a wallop.…
    She stopped there, finding it hard to concentrate. More to the point, finding it hard to care about the sulky-faced brats whom she knew had been chosen for their looks rather than any musical talent. She stared out the window instead, suddenly filled with gloom.
    She’d been working in the press office of this small but very successful record company for two and a half years, writing media releases and puff pieces for record-store magazines, as well as training their artists in interview techniques. At the start it had been a dream job, a combination of her love for music and for writing. But lately it had started to wear her down. She’d been feeling the same way about London, even though she had loved it when she first arrived. Little things seemed to be getting to her.
    The night before she’d been working late, coaching a new rap singer in radio interview techniques. It had been past nine o’clock when she left the studio, caught the tube home, and started the fifteen-minute walk from the station to her basement flat, one of eight in a large three-story Camden Town terrace house. She was tired, hungry, and cold by the time her street was finally in sight. She was five steps from her door when she remembered taking her keys out of her bag that afternoon when she searched for her diary. Four steps away when she remembered seeing them on her desk and thinking, Don’t forget those. And two steps away when she realized she’d left them at work.
    “In you go, then, love.” The locksmith had taken less than ten seconds to open her door. It had, however, taken him nearly two hours to arrive. Bett was frozen.
    “Thanks,” she’d said, through icy-cold lips, handing over nearly fifty pounds. It was easy to see why he was so cheerful.
    “Now, love, far be it from me to put myself out of a job, but have you thought about