The Price of Butcher's Meat Read Online Free PDF Page A

independent existence—that’s one of the reasons you’ve never shacked up together, right? She’s not one of those ground-you-walk-on worshippers who only live for their man.”
    â€œI know what she is a bloody sight better than thee, Ellie Pascoe!” I declared, getting angry. “And I know she’d be ready and willing to put in a bit of time taking care of me if that’s what I need!”
    â€œOf course she would,” said Ellie with that smug look they get when they’ve made you lose your rag. “Question is, Andy, do you really want her to?”
    No answer to that, at least not one I wanted to give her the satisfaction of hearing. And I didn’t say much either when she started talking about the Cedars out at Filey, the convalescent home provided by our Welfare Association for old, mad, blind, and generally knackered cops. Alcatraz, we call it, ’cos the only way out is in a box.
    What I did say, all grumpy, was, “Were it Cap that put you up to this then?”
    She grabbed hold of a bedpan and said, “That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Andy Dalziel. And if you let out so much as a hint to Cap what I’ve been talking to you about, I’ll stick this thing so far up your behind, they’ll need a tow truck to haul it out! You just lie here and think about what I’ve said.”
    â€œYes, miss,” I said meekly. “Tha knows, lass, Pete Pascoe’s a very lucky man.”
    â€œYou think so?” she said, looking a bit embarrassed.
    â€œAye,” I said. “It’s not every husband’s got a big strapping wife he can send up on the roof if ever a tile comes off in a high wind.”
    She laughed out loud. That’s one of the things I like about Ellie Pascoe. No girlish giggles there. She enjoys a real good laugh.
    â€œYou old sod,” she said. “I’m off now. I’ve got my own life too. Peter sends his love. Says to tell you that he’s got things running so smooth down at the Factory that he can’t understand how they ever managed with you. Take care now.”
    She bent over me and kissed me. Bright, brave, and bonny. Pete Pascoe really was a lucky man.
    And she’s got lovely knockers.
    Any road, I did think about what she’d said and a couple of days later when I were talking to Cap, I said I were thinking of going to the Cedars.
    She said, “But you hate that place. You once went to visit someone there and you said it was like a temperance hotel without the wild parties.”
    That’s the trouble with words, they come back to haunt you.
    â€œMebbe that’s what I need now,” I lied. “Couple of weeks peace and quiet and a breath of sea air. Me mind’s made up.”
    I should have known, men make up their minds like they make up their beds—if there’s a woman around she’ll pull all the bedding off and start again.
    Next time she came she had a bunch of brochures.
    She said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Andy, and I reckon you’re right about the sea air. But I don’t think the Cedars is the place for you. You’d be surrounded by other cops there with nothing to do but talk about crooks and cases and getting back on the job. No, this is the place for you. The Avalon.”
    â€œYou mean that Yankee clinic place?” I said, glancing at the brochures.
    â€œThe Avalon Foundation is originally American, yes, but it’s been so successful it now has clinics worldwide. There’s one in Australia, one in Switzerland…”
    â€œI’m not going to Switzerland,” I said. “All them cuckoo clocks, I’d never sleep.”
    â€œOf course you’re not. You are going to the one in Sandytown, where as well as the clinic and its attendant nursing home, there’s an old house that’s been converted into a convalescent home. My old headmistress, Kitty Bagnold, you