The Cutting Room Read Online Free PDF Page A

a noise
    as a slight change in the atmosphere, a draught perhaps as the door had been opened, but I knew someone was in the room
    below.
     
    I slipped the photographs back into their envelope and put
    them in my inside pocket. I had almost killed the bottle. I took a hit for courage and walked over to the trap.
    `Hello?
    Even to my own ears my voice sounded shaky. Beneath
    me someone took three swift steps to the door, then closed
    it gently behind them. The footsteps faded down the stairs,
    the front door slammed. Had it been left unlocked when
    the squad had finished earlier in the day? Christ, we get the biggest call we’ve had all year and it’s burglarised under
    our noses. The old lady was probably dead in her bed,
     
    murdered by some psycho we’d invited in with open door. I rattled down the ladder, forgetting to be afraid of the height.
    Everything was as I had left it, the chairs neat against the wall. Out in the hallway all the doors were shut. I made my
    way down to the ground floor, where we had stacked most of
    the good stuff. It all looked pretty much the same. Finally I checked the front door: locked. Whoever had been creeping
    around in the middle of the night had a key. I went upstairs, secured the attic, put the ladder back in its resting place and left.

3
A Walk in the Park
    O Rose, thou art sick!
    The invisible worm
    That flies in the night,
    In the howling storm,
    Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy:
     
    And his dark secret love
    Does thy life destroy.
    William Blake,
    ‘The Sick Rose’
    ouT in THE STREET I looked at my watch: a quarter to three.
    For a second I considered going to the pool room for one last drink and some company, but instead turned my back on
    Hyndland and walked towards the West End.
     
    It was raining. A faint drizzle that was almost a mist. The pavements were shiny with rain and the reflected orange glow of the street lamps. I trudged solidly on, putting the cod
    respectability of Hyndland further behind me with every step.
    I felt in need of an exorcism. The smell of bad beer hung in the air outside Tennents Bar, even three hours after closing. The lights were on, the staff inside having a lock-in. I could stop, give the knock and Davie boy would let me in for a final few before bedtime, but it wasn’t drink or bed that I wanted. I
    crossed the lights at Byres Road. Still busy, even at this time in the morning. A drunk careened past me, hands in his pockets, head down, making his way home with drunk man’s radar.
    `Ahway to fuck, you auld poof’ he muttered.
    I pulled up the collar of my raincoat and walked on.
    Climbing the rise of University Avenue, towards the illuminated towers of the university, their haze clouding any view of
    the stars. It was getting quieter now. I descended towards
    Gilmorehill Cross, then turned right into Kelvin Way, avenue of dreams.
    Kelvin Way is edged by park-land and university grounds.
    Mature limes line either side of the road, towering above the street lights. Their roots escape the concrete, gnarled talons, making a journey along the street a negotiation of puddles and fissures. The tops of the trees danced gently in the rain,
    Arthur Rackham silhouettes, branches clutching at each other, casting crazy shadows and darkness. After a straight boy was mistaken for a queer and murdered, an attempt had been
    made to make the street brighter, stringing lamps across the centre of the road. They only added to the charm, bobbing
    negligently in the wind.
    A car passed me slowly, a BMW, lights dimmed. The driver
    moved slightly in his seat, glancing towards me, looking
     
    without looking, me seeing him, no eye contact. It wasn’t a walking corpse he was after. He stopped ahead of me. A slim
    figure detached itself from beneath a tree and got into the car.
     
    If you like a bit of rough and have drowned your fear and
    your conscience, this is the place to come.
    `Looking for business?
     
    It’s like a mantra on The Way. A boy leaning