The Various Haunts of Men Read Online Free PDF

…’
    Go away. Don’t comein here.
    ‘Ten to eight.’
    The door opened, shooting light across the wall.
    ‘Cup of tea?’
    Debbie did not move, did not speak. Go away.
    ‘Come on …’
    The curtains were rasped open. The noise was like having her teeth pulled. Sandy Marsh, bouncy, bubbly, bright – and concerned. She sat on Debbie’s bed.
    ‘I said I’ve brought you some tea.’
    ‘I’m OK.’
    ‘You’re not OK.’
    ‘Am.’
    ‘Tell me I’m rightout of order here, but I think you need to go and see the doctor.’
    ‘I’m not ill,’ Debbie mumbled into the yeasty hollow of bedclothes.
    ‘You’re not well either. Look at you. Maybe you’ve got that thing called SAD … it is December. It’s a fact that more people top themselves in December and February than the rest of the year.’
    Debbie sat up, throwing off the duvet in one fierce thrust. ‘Oh great.Thanks.’
    Sandy’s bright, cheerfully made-up face was creased with concern. ‘I’m sorry. Kick me. Sorry. Oh God.’
    Debbie was crying leaning forward on her arms. Sandy reached out to hug her.
    ‘You’ll be late,’ Debbie said.
    ‘Stuff late. You’re more important. Come on.’
    In the end, Debbie got up and trailed to the shower. But before the shower came the mirror.
    The acne was worse. Her whole facewas scarred and blemished by the angry, infected rash. It spread down her neck and on to her shoulders. She had been to the doctor about it once, months ago. He had given her foul-smelling yellow ointment to spread on twice a day. It had greased her clothes and made the bedclothes stink and done her spots no good at all. She hadn’t bothered to finish the pot and hadn’t been back to the surgery.‘I hate doctors,’ she said to Sandy, sitting in their kitchen, full of cheap DIY units whose doors kept falling off. Sandy had made toast and two more mugs of tea.
    They had known each other since primary school, grown up in the same street, and rented the flat together eight months ago when Sandy’s mother had remarried and living at home had become difficult. But what should have been good funsomehow never had been. Debbie had lost her job when the building society closed its Lafferton branch and then the blackness had started to creep up on her.
    ‘All the doctor will give me is a load of pills that’ll space me out.’
    Sandy dipped her teaspoon into her mug of tea and tipped the liquid back, dipped and tipped again.
    ‘OK. Well, maybe there’s someone else you could see.’
    ‘Like who?’
    ‘Those sort of people who advertise in the health shop.’
    ‘What? Like that creepy acupuncturist? Healers and herbal people? Bit cranky.’
    ‘Well, a lot of people swear by all that. Just take down some names.’
*
    Doing something made her feel better. There was a flicker of cheerfulness as she went into the newsagent and bought a notebook and biro, walked down the Perrott to the health shop, lookedup at the Hill beyond the rooftops, its crown touched by lemon-coloured sunlight.
    The health shop was in Alms Street, near to the cathedral. I might be OK, Debbie thought. I could get fit, lose two stone, find something to clear my skin. A new life.
    The cards were pinned on top of one another, crammed together anyhow on the cork board; she had to lift and unpin several to start getting at thenames and numbers. Alexander technique, reflexology, Brandon healing, acupuncture, chiropractic. It took ages to work her way through. In the end she took down the details of four – aromatherapist, reflexologist, acupuncturist and herbalist – and, after dithering a moment, one other … the address and phone number of someone called Dava. She felt drawn to the card, a deep, intense blue dusted witha swirl of tiny stars. DAVA. SPIRITUAL HEALING. CRYSTALS. INNER HARMONY. LIGHT. WHOLE-PERSON THERAPY .
    She stared at it, felt herself being pulled into the depths of the blue card. It did something to her, there was no doubt. When she came out of the health