The First Week Read Online Free PDF Page A

And we’ve got his brother here.’
    â€˜Of course, that’s fine.’ Marian could hear herself gabbling. ‘And don’t worry about the car, I’ll think of something.’
    â€˜Hang on …’
    â€˜Got to go. Bye.’ She hung up on Evie’s protest and wiped her sweating hands on her pants.
    That was that then.
    A pile of papers lay outside the newsagent. The front page was taken up by a single story.
    Second Death in Supermarket Shooting.
    But it wasn’t a supermarket in the photo. A sign across the window said Convenience Store . Tape was looped across the doorway and something dark was splashed across an ice-cream ad.
    They should clean that off.
    Turning away she sat on the bench outside a chicken shop. If she waited a while, maybe the traffic would clear.
    Early shoppers passed her, men and women rushing to get the day organised. A boy rattled open the roller door of Toby Rooster and started pushing a mop around the floor.
    Marian went up to the counter.
    â€˜Yeah?’ A row of pimples across his forehead marked the line of his lank fringe.
    Brian had pimples. It was years before he grew out of them. Brian had all the teenage troubles—arms and legs suddenly too long, voice either a squeak or a roar, face bursting out in huge eruptions. Not Charlie. For some reason he was lucky, and stayed neat and self-contained. It was odd. There were changes in his body, but the process was steady, not spectacular, as though he managed it while he was asleep.
    â€˜Can I help you?’ asked the boy.
    â€˜Could I get a cup of tea here?’
    â€˜We don’t do tea.’ He started to mop again, but evidently thought better of it and looked at her, eyes more focused. ‘There’s a coffee shop down past the jewellers.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    The tea was hot and Marian drank gratefully. The scone was stale, but she wasn’t hungry anyway and crumbled it in her saucer. Eight thirty. The girl had said ten. Ten o’clock at the Magistrates Court in St George’s Terrace.
    She could leave the Astra at the station and get the train. That’s what she’d do. The woman behind the counter held her hand out for the money without even a glance. Grateful for the anonymity Marian made her way out past a giant carton advertising iced coffee.
    The station was around the next curve, with acres of car park. Getting out of the car and leaving it behind suddenly seemed difficult. Her last tie with home and normal. Pulling her bag out of the back she stood irresolute, key in hand.
    Get on with it.
    It wasn’t such a big decision. The car would be fine here until later, when she’d worked out where to stay.
    There was no ticket office, only a machine on the platform. Hearing the rumble of an approaching train she stabbed hastily at the machine. City. Two zones. One adult. With nightmare slowness she fumbled for coins. The machine rattled and poked a ticket at her from a slot. She grabbed it and spun round, but the train was only just slowing down. Relieved, she stepped forward.
    But the doors didn’t open.
    She ran her hands frantically over the shining surface, but there was no sign of a handle.
    Dimly, through the graffiti on the window, she could see faces. A young man in a suit was grimacing at her, mouth moving. He didn’t want her to get in. Another passenger pointed at her.
    Marian banged helplessly on the metal. ‘Please. I have to get to Perth.’
    The first man leaned to one side. The doors slid smoothly open.
    â€˜There’s a button. You have to press it,’ he said. Sure enough, there was a rectangular button to one side of the door.
    â€˜Thank you,’ Marian said, face burning.
    The passengers held rails and straps in silence, swaying with the train. There was nothing for Marian to hang on to. She lurched.
    One of the strap-hangers steadied her arm. ‘There’s a seat there.’
    A woman smiled at her from a