The Family Men Read Online Free PDF

breath. He’s never been one to pace himself, his style more the mad dash to the finish line, the late leg scramble, rather than the heel-to-toe chain of successive possessions – driving the coaching staff crazy ( no “I” in team , etc., another of Laurie’s maxims, interchangeable with make it happen and sometimes less is more ).
    A lack of faith, Father Murphy calls it. A crisis of confidence, whatever that means. Even his teachers used to tell him to exercise more control. Be harder for longer.
    Harry knows what they want from him, recognises the discipline of the marathon runner over the sprinter, eking out that energy over a longer haul, but he doesn’t understand why it is such a big deal. He isn’t greedy or ostentatious. His isn’t a hoarding mentality. For him it is more like swimming in a chlorinated pool without goggles. He knows vaguely where he is heading; it is simply a question of waiting for the right moment then taking a deep enough breath and pushing off until he touches the other side.
    *
    The girl ran up the platform just as the City train pulled in to the station. She was moving so quickly she nearly lost hold of her bag as she lunged for the carriage door, one strap slipping perilously off her shoulder as she attempted to reach for the handle before the train had fully stopped. At their last lesson Greta (her contact, the woman who’d recruited her) had warned her not to be late, the manager didn’t like it, and now she wouldn’t be, thank God. She was nervous enough already without having to incur the anticipated wrath of an as yet unseen boss.
    The rest of her gear was well concealed in her overnight bag beneath her nightie and hair dryer. It was the kind of scam she and Cassie often pulled, covering for each other when alibis were required or confirmations needed to be given about time and place and who exactly would be going with them and to where, her mother having subjected her plans to the most cursory of examinations (nearly anything to sanction her leave pass for the evening, would forgive nearly any “acceptable” social engagement if it meant she and Ray, the fiancé, could have the house to themselves). Except that this time none of her circle had any idea where she was off to or with whom (they remained completely oblivious of Greta, the association having been kept separate from school life, confined to and around her part-time job). The girl was well aware that her mum would have a fit if she got wind of this current plan, even travelling on the train by herself being a major deal, men being on the lookout for girls like her, girls just like her, young, wide-eyed and alone, luring them with extravagant promises, before molesting them in some grisly basement or other then dumping them unceremoniously after slitting their nascent throats.
    She touched her hand to her neck. A light perspiration dampened her skin as her pulse quickened, the anticipation that had been building for weeks peaking now that the end of football season was finally here. She was strangely cognisant that the train was a portal between two worlds, acting as a bridge of sorts between her old life, the one she had known so far (claustrophobic, suburban, dull) and this new one (cosmopolitan, exciting, cool), it being up to her whether or not she’d ever go back, the reality being that if she didn’t make the effort to return, there was no natural way home, that from this point forward she could slip off the grid, lose herself in another realm altogether, and that she held the power to do this, that she was old enough finally to make herself disappear (if not literally driving away then perhaps securing a passage on the Indian Pacific, say, then finding a job in the west). The immensity of that fact gave her a moment’s pause, knowing she was capable of anything, a feeling that she told herself was still excitement, still a happy feeling, dispatching the