The Unfinished Tale Of Sophie Anderson Read Online Free PDF Page B

this man that was borderline flammable and it risked burning you if you got too close. Why had I never seen it before? We'd been working in the same building for so long and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. The pyjamas never lie - they knew me better than I knew myself.
     
    When we got back the rest of the 'shop were already on their way home. We pulled into the car park in total darkness as the winter nights had well and truly drawn in. I dreaded to think that the 'C' word was on its way.
    "Let's get the van emptied so we can go home," said Tom, climbing down from the cab. "I'm knackered."
    "Yeah, me too and we haven't really done anything when you think about it."
    "Hey - we worked our arses off, Missy. If we can nail those hand rails tomorrow then we're on the home stretch. They won't need us again for a couple of weeks at least."
    "We'll see," I said. "I've heard this before."
    "Ye of little faith."
    I was soon driving home with thoughts of tea and an early night bouncing around my head. Mixed in there was my day with Tom and welding and a five storey drop. By the time I pulled up I was playing the nodding dog behind the wheel and ready for a glass of red wine. Mel would have to sort herself out. Tonight I was donning the Mickey Mouse PJs which I was sure had no subliminal message for her. Then it was a date with the duvet and hopefully a good night’s sleep.
    I opened the front door and the usual stack of mail got jammed again. This time I was able to extract the letters without too much damage and I deposited them in the fish bowl. We'd never actually had fish and I think it was a house warming gift I'd never gotten around to using. It'd been Mel's idea to use it for the mail and I was fine with that given that most of the mail we received was hers anyway. There was no escaping the catalogue bill when it was swimming around a transparent bowl the moment you walked in the house. Unlike fish you couldn't just flush them away.
    As I was pouring my wine there was a distant chime, a faint tinkling that I knew was coming from my phone. Once more the technological beings above would be preparing to hurl their fiery bolts my way for committing further phone-related sins. Me and the glass walked over to my bag and extracted the offending device.
    "I can see why people die using these things," I said out loud. I swiped the screen and gasped. Not just at dramatic gasp, an actual, real gasp.
     
    GOOD WORK TODAY. SEE YOU IN THE MORNING. TOM.
     
    At first I felt the spinal shudder of the potential stalker victim. Then I remembered that my mobile number was on record at Riley's and was even on the little bits of paper stuck to the internal phones. There was something else I felt too - something I hadn't felt for a long, long time. It was known, in the vernacular of the modern romantic, as 'butterflies'. I had little need to worry though - red wine would drown the little blighter’s and so I gave them a generous mouthful before discarding the phone on my bed.
    A few minutes later and I was dressed to kill in my cotton mickey mouse's but that pesky phone was still there, looking up at me with its cyclopean square eye. My wine had gone but the fluttering hadn't. I promised myself another glass and rooted in my bag for Mr. Reacher. Surely his latest action-packed adventure would quell the winged rascals?
    I slumped onto the settee and started reading. I managed a few pages. It was still there. Staring. Looking. Accusing. Did Alexander Bell realise the monster he'd unleashed on the world? I finished my second glass and started a third. Surely a simple reply was the answer? Nothing serious, just a text of professional courtesy. No emoji though. This was strictly above board. One colleague to another. More of a memo than a text.
     
    YOU TOO. SOPHIE.
     
    That would do, I thought. I was about to press 'SEND' but I wasn't sure it was the right response. It was blunt. It was cold. I didn't want him to think I was some