The Spider Truces Read Online Free PDF

said it as if the thought was a new one but Chrissie had heard it from him often in the last five years. She smiled at him reassuringly.
    “No sweat, Dad.”
    “I’m allowed to do silly things though, aren’t I, because I’m only nine?” Ellis asked.
    “We can do silly things when we’re all together, at home, safe and sound,” his dad answered.
    “But I still don’t get why you are putting tiles up there when there wasn’t any drips,” Ellis said, faithful to his own unique train of thought.
    “I know, Ellis, but somewhere that roof is damaged and hopefully this’ll do the trick.”
    “But what if it doesn’t?”
    “I’ll have to sell you to the slave trade to raise money to employ a roofer.”
    Chrissie laughed, whilst Ellis weighed up whether or not he liked the sound of this.
    “I wouldn’t mind being a slave if it was in some interesting country.”
    “You’re my slave,” Denny reminded him.
    “Then you ought to pay me!”
    “You don’t pay slaves, you spaz,” Chrissie said.
    “Charmingly put,” Mafi said. “What have you been up to, Chrissie? I haven’t seen you all morning.”
    “I’ve cured the common cold, cut a hit LP, written to Idi Amin about his diet and concocted a formula to rid the world of Communism which I’ll unveil after lunch.”
    “Chrissie?” Denny said.
    “Yes, Daddio?”
    “Remember late 1973?”
    “Not particularly. Why?”
    “That was the last time you gave a straight answer to a question.”
    Chrissie opened her mouth to rattle off a response but couldn’t come up with anything. Her dad smiled, victorious, and she buried her head in his chest with a stupid smile. Mafi reached for her handkerchief. Her watery eyes spoke only of how she loved being part of this nonsense.
    “In 1973 I was six,” said Ellis, counting his fingers. “But now I’m nine.”
    Chrissie stared at him bug-eyed. “Reeeeally, Ellis? Do keep us informed!”
    His children were still wrestling on the front lawn as Denny O’Rourke surveyed the roof from the foot of the driveway. Their screaming and laughter filled the air. He smiled to himself and leant back against the gatepost and as he did so he felt the breath of a woman on his neck.
    “You must be the widower.”
    Denny turned. The middle-aged woman standing far too close to him was handsome, a rural version of elegant, with shining eyes that swallowed him whole. Her voice was throaty and coarse and she stared into him as she spoke.
    “Yes. Very nice indeed. I see what they mean.”
    An impulse Denny had not hosted for half a decade was upon him. He introduced himself and learned that she was Bridget and she ran the village shop that formed a triangle at the foot of the green with the post office and the pub.
    “Come in and set up your account. If the shop’s empty, just come straight upstairs.”
    She pressed her hands against her rib cage and filled her lungs, in a gesture of her appreciation of this crisp winter’s day that left Denny helpless but to imagine the strong, full, impressive physique beneath her clothing. For a moment, as Bridget watched the children, Denny let himself fall deep into her body.
    “Yes. Very nice …” she repeated, and left.
    Denny found his son and daughter staring at him. Ellis burst into laughter that made his face vibrate. Chrissie stared angrily at him and said, “NO!”
    Denny shook his head dismissively and smiled, swatting away her fears and his own lust. He kicked the wedge from beneath the driveway gate and let it swing shut behind him as he returned to work. Ellis followed him inside.
    The third attic in the cottage was above Ellis’s bedroom, the door to it directly over his pillows, and it was where family heirlooms, Christmas decorations and dressing-up rags and costumes were stored. Ellis found his bed pushed aside and the ladders propped against the open attic door.
    He called out, “Can I come up?”
    “If you’re careful.”
    The attic was long and narrow and low enough