The Inn at the Edge of the World Read Online Free PDF Page A

have for dinner. When she left he found himself following her down the steps and had to pretend he had merely gone out there to pick up the rubbish which had gathered around them. He stood in the dusk clutching a sheet of torn newspaper and a polystyrene box that had once contained a hamburger. When his patient had driven off in her BMW he put them down again on the pavement. He was starving. He was lonely. He had few friends, for most people regarded the members of his profession with the same suspicion they felt towards the tax inspector, the chief of police and, possibly, the vicar; and none of his fellow professionals liked each other much because of the internecine rivalry common in those spheres where conflicting, and often opposing, theories strive for dominance.
    He was still standing, in a most unprofessional fashion, on the doorstep when his last patient arrived, a few minutes early.
    ‘What’s up, Doc?’ inquired the patient, a brash and idle young man to whom Ronald had never warmed. Ronald declined to answer, but with stately tread led the way to the consulting room where for the umpteenth time he listened, bored stiff, as the young man, who actually appeared to enjoy these sessions, unreeled yet again a succession of memories, dreams and unseemly desires. When the fifty minutes were up, on the dot, Ronald cut him short, waited impatiently for the lad to write out his cheque for the meagre amount that was all he could afford until he found a job, and slammed the door behind him. If his wife persisted in staying away he would have to hire a receptionist which would be, considered Ronald, a ridiculous waste of money.
    He went out for dinner, remembering just in time to carry a key so that he could get in again: his wife had always taken care of these details and he found he had to concentrate now on such trivia in order to save himself endless trouble. Somebody – probably one of the better class of homeless who were proliferating under the government’s economic strategy – had left a magazine between the bars of the railings, where doubtless he had leaned, reading, as he ate the remains of the hamburger which some richer person had abandoned in a litter bin.
    Ronald took the magazine with him to the Indian restaurant round the corner where he ordered too many dishes because his wife wasn’t there to prevent him. He glanced through the magazine without noticing which one it was until his eyes began to water as he injudiciously bit a chilli in half. Cooling down over a bowl of tinned lychees he read the small ads on the back page, where the word ‘Christmas’ leapt to his eyes. He hadn’t thought about the coming festive season until now, and wondered whether the Indian restaurant would be open on Christmas day. Examining his feelings with clinical detachment he concluded that he was descending into an unacceptable degree of depression. This was confirmed when, on the way home, he first caught himself bending to look inside a closed car to see if it contained his wife, and then found he had walked down a side street after a woman who vaguely resembled her.
    Sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, staring at the wallpaper, he noticed the magazine lying on top of his overcoat on the floor. Carefully this time he read the ad which had mentioned Christmas. If he had to live through Christmas alone he would do it in the small hotel at the edge of the world, for he was beginning to fear that if he continued in this frame of mind he would commit some impropriety towards a female and well-fed patient which would lead to his being struck off. So strongly did he feel that when the morning came he telephoned Eric to book his room.
     
    ‘Well, that’s seven,’ said Eric, concealing his satisfaction with a casual frown as he made a note of Ronald’s name.
    ‘Seven what?’ asked Mabel who, naturally, knew perfectly well. She was eating a sardine sandwich and reached out with a greasy grasp for her husband’s