We'll Always Have Paris Read Online Free PDF

His blind hand went
    out and closed the up-staring eyes of Mr Hill, and on each wrinkled, cooling eyelid put a shiny
    new dime.
    The door slammed behind him. Hattie screamed.
    He turned to her with a sick smile. ‘I just lost a bet,’ he heard himself
    say.

When the Bough Breaks
    The night was cold and there was a slight wind which had begun to rise
    around two in the morning.
    The leaves in all the trees outside began to tremble.
    By three o’clock the wind was constant and murmuring outside the window.
    She was the first to open her eyes.
    And then, for some imperceptible reason, he stirred in his half sleep.
    ‘You awake?’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There was a sound, something called.’
    He half raised his head.
    A long way off there was a soft wailing.
    ‘Hear that?’ she asked.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Something’s crying.’
    ‘Something?’ he said.
    ‘Someone,’ she said. ‘It sounds like a ghost.’
    ‘My God, what a thing. What time is it?’
    ‘Three in the morning. That terrible hour.’
    ‘Terrible?’ he said.
    ‘You know Dr Meade told us at the hospital that that’s the one hour when
    people just give up, they don’t keep trying anymore. That’s when they die. Three in the
    morning.’
    ‘I’d rather not think about that,’ he said.
    The sound from outside the house grew louder.
    ‘There it is again,’ she said. ‘That sounds like a ghost.’
    ‘Oh my God,’ he whispered. ‘What kind of ghost?’
    ‘A baby,’ she said. ‘A baby crying.’
    ‘Since when do babies have ghosts? Have we known any babies recently that
    died?’ He made a soft sound of laughter.
    ‘No,’ she said, and shook her head back and forth. ‘But maybe it’s not the
    ghost of a baby that died, but…I don’t know. Listen.’
    He listened and the crying came again, a long way off.
    ‘What if—’ she said.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘What if it’s the ghost of a child—’
    ‘Go on,’ he said.
    ‘That hasn’t been born yet.’
    ‘Are there such ghosts? And can they make sounds? My God, why do I say that?
    What a strange thing to say.’
    ‘The ghost of a baby that hasn’t been born
    yet.’
    ‘How can it have a voice?’ he said.
    ‘Maybe it’s not dead, but just wants to live,’ she said. ‘It’s so far off, so
    sad. How can we answer it?’
    They both listened and the quiet cry continued and the wind wailed outside
    the window.
    Listening, tears came into her eyes and, listening, the same thing happened
    to him.
    ‘I can’t stand this,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get up and get something to
    eat.’
    ‘No, no,’ she said, and took his hand and held it. ‘Be very quiet and listen.
    Maybe we’ll get answers.’
    He lay back and held her hand and tried to shut his eyes, but could not.
    They both lay in bed and the wind continued murmuring, and the leaves shook
    outside the window.
    A long way off, a great distance off, the sound of weeping went on and
    on.
    ‘Who could that be?’ she said. ‘
What
could that be?
    It won’t stop. It makes me so sad. Is it asking to be let in?’
    ‘Let in?’ he said.
    ‘To live. It’s not dead, it’s never lived, but it wants to live. Do you
    think—’ She hesitated.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Do you think the way we talked a month ago…?’
    ‘What talk was that?’ he said.
    ‘About the future. About our not having a
    family. No family. No
children
.’
    ‘I don’t remember,’ he said.
    ‘Try to,’ she said. ‘We promised each other no family, no children.’ She
    hesitated and then added, ‘No babies.’
    ‘No children. No babies?’
    ‘Do you think—’ She raised her head and listened to the crying outside the
    window, far away, through the trees, across the country. ‘Can it be that—’
    ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that I know a way to stop that crying.’
    He waited for her to continue.
    ‘I think that maybe—’
    ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘Maybe you should come over on this side of the