The Grin of the Dark Read Online Free PDF Page B

guest.'
    'I'll join you in a minute.' I feel driven to discover what offences
the Gents may be concealing. The white-tiled room proves to feature
framed stills from old sex comedies, of performers whose nakedness
is obscured by their embraces. There's even the odd nipple, but
nothing to hinder my using the nearest urinal. I'm distracted only by
a flapping beyond the high window. Is it an injured bird? It sounds
more like someone with outsize flat feet repeatedly leaping to try and
peer through the grille of the window. I zip myself up as soon as I can
and am nearly at the door when something behind me lets out a harsh
rattling breath. Of course I strayed too close to the hand dryer.
    Natalie's parents are next to her on the plump bench. Bebe pats the
space beside herself. 'We ordered for you,' Warren says. 'We have to
be out of here relatively fast. Natalie said what she thought you'd
like.'
    Does he see any connection between his last two sentences? As I
take a mouthful of whatever the house wine is meant to be, his wife
says 'So do you think that magazine will give your publisher a
problem?'
    'He's going to make sure it doesn't. He's my old film tutor.'
    'He won't be working for the university any more, then.'
    'He is, but now he's editing for them as well.'
    'I guess relying on the state is safest.'
    'We won't be doing that. An old boy has left them all his money
to publish art books that'll sell.'
    'Let's hope they do. Here's to his memory.' Warren clinks his glass
against his family's and at last mine, at which point he asks 'What's
the series you're planning?'
    'It isn't a series as such, but I've got quite a few books in my head.'
    'We thought you'd been commissioned to write a whole series,
didn't we, Warren? Tell us what they're about, then, Simon.'
    'I'm working on one about people in film who've fallen from
grace.'
    'You'll know about that.' Bebe finishes her drink and brandishes a
finger and her glass for any waiter to respond, then lowers both in my
direction. 'Didn't you write about it for your degree?'
    'I did, and now Rufus wants me to expand it for publication.'
    'You'll need to change it as much as you're able, I suppose.'
    'I don't know why you should say that,' Natalie intervenes. 'I
thought it was a good read, and Simon's tutor certainly did.'
    'Your mother means he'll need to so the university don't think
they're getting stuff they already paid good money for.'
    'They won't be,' I say and take advantage of the arrival of a waiter
to order another drink. 'I'm researching someone they'll never have
heard of.'
    'Researching,' Warren says. 'What's that going to cost in time and
money?'
    'As much as it has to, I should think. They'll be paying my expenses.'
    'So long as your grant covers it,' Bebe quite unnecessarily says.
    'It isn't a grant,' Natalie objects before I can.
    'Grant, expenses, whichever. Money the university will be paying
to keep him afloat. Do you have a title, Simon?'
    'It's They Made Movies Too .'
    'That's what you called your thesis, is it?'
    'That was Forgotten Filmmakers ,' Natalie says. 'This sounds like
a real book.'
    Though her parents are no more than silent, it feels discontented.
I've no idea what I might be provoked to say if I weren't inhibited by
the approach of waiters, one bearing glasses, the other with a tray of
lunch. I was expecting an appetiser. I know we would have to be
seated at the bar to share Canapé Apocalypse, but I thought the
Hallorans might have ordered the mixed starters, In the Realm of the
Senses. My kebab platter is called I Spitted Your Fave, while Natalie
has ordered Duck à la Clockwork Orange and her father has chosen
Last Grouse on the Left. Bebe inhales the aroma of her Mardi Gras
Casserole and lifts her face prettily towards the waiter. 'Smells good,
but why's it called that?'
    'I couldn't say, madam. I'll have to ask.'
    'Don't go anywhere,' Bebe says and turns to me. 'Here's the guy
who can tell us.'
    'I don't know either, sorry.'
    'Oh dear. Maybe