The Hunger Trace Read Online Free PDF Page B

breakfast in Christendom today. Guess what I had,’ he said.
    ‘Monster Munch?’
    ‘That was for afters.’
    ‘Then I can’t guess. Weetos?’
    ‘Nope. Whiskey and erm, cheesecake.’
    ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ Maggie said.
    ‘Erm. I like cheesecake.’
    ‘You’re wearing your dad’s aftershave,’ she said.
    ‘Yes. And? What if ?’
    ‘It’s nice. As long as you’ve not been drinking it.’
    ‘That’s disgusting.’
    He had not washed his hair in the bath, and it rose in stiff golden clumps now. Maggie put her hand into one of the clumps, straightening out a few knots. Christopher looked at the television, but did not resist her touch.
    ‘You know, I had a word with the history guy at the college,’ Maggie said.
    ‘Who you’re in league with.’
    ‘I’m not in league with him. I’m not in league with anyone. Anyway, he says you can do a personal project without doing the rest of the qualification. It means you can write about Robin Hood, get all Sherwood on their asses.’
    He fell silent, and she knew she had achieved a small victory. ‘Enrolment is Thursday,’ she said.
    He stood up quickly, and left her looking at the impression of his knees in his jeans. ‘Where are you going?’ she said.
    ‘Pub,’ he said.
    ‘But they won’t serve you.’
    ‘They did last time. I look old enough. Why won’t they?’
    She rose to her feet slowly and looked up at him. He exhaled with a loud whistle through his nose.
    ‘Because it’s eight-thirty in the morning,’ she said.
    ‘Whose side are you on?’
    She sighed on hearing this stock phrase of his. It was sometimes possible to turn his extraordinary sense of cliché to her advantage, but with that smell in the room she did not feel like it. She felt, in fact, as sick as a parrot.
    Christopher left, and sorrow gripped hard. The smell bloomed again, and she thought of the aftershave staining the wood of the bathroom floor. She found some newspaper to absorb it.
    She had first met Christopher on a carefully arranged visit to Derbyshire, and it was David who had been more nervous in the moments before. ‘Christopher has been briefed,’ David said as they sat waiting in the neutrality of the White Hart. ‘In many ways, he’s excited to meet you.’ She looked at her fiancé with abject alarm.
    Christopher walked in. He froze when he first saw her, arms by his sides. She rose from her seat, identifying him immediately, and approached.
    ‘Erm. Who’s that?’ Christopher said, looking at David, pointing at Maggie. The regulars did not need him to single her out – they were already looking.
    ‘Christopher, come on,’ David said. ‘You know who it is.’
    Maggie stopped between them.
    ‘Erm. You’re telling me that this is your new woman?’
    ‘This is Maggie, yes.’
    Maggie smiled, and allowed herself to be examined.
    ‘Wowsers,’ said Christopher. ‘Erm. When was she born, yesterday? She’s an absolute oil painting.’
    ‘Nice to meet you,’ Maggie said. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
    He kissed her hand. ‘What are you doing with this, erm, old coot?’ he said.
    Now, in the bathroom, the newspaper sagged under the weight of the liquid, which turned it brown – aged it in seconds. Maggie lifted the soggy paper and saw that the wood had already absorbed much of the aftershave. She imagined it soaking through the floor and dripping from the ceiling in the rooms below.
    She sat for a moment, feeling the alcohol penetrate the cuts on her hands. And she was aroused. She felt the feeling rattle down her chest. She picked up the electric toothbrush and took it to bed. Her eyes remained open; there were no fantasies. Afterwards she lay still and stared at the ceiling. Such desires had gripped her occasionally and forcefully since David had died. She did not know what she was supposed to feel, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t this.
    *    *    *
    Louisa kept her indoor lighting low, and rarely drew the curtains, so she