Winter Solstice Read Online Free PDF Page B

and with a stomach like a tin bucket, drank too much. She was never incapable, never hung over. But she drank too much. And Oscar knew it.
    Oscar. And now, here he was, in Mrs. Jennings’s shop on a grey October afternoon, picking up his newspaper and paying for a bag of dog meal. He wore corduroys and a thick tweedy-looking sweater, and sturdy boots, which seemed to indicate that he had been gardening, remembered these necessary errands, and come.
    Mrs. Jennings looked up.
    “Afternoon, Mrs. Phipps.”
    With his hand full of change, Oscar turned and saw her.
    “Elfrida. Good afternoon.”
    She said, “You must have walked. I didn’t see your car.”
    “Parked it round the corner. That’s it, I think, Mrs. Jennings.”
    He moved aside to make space for Elfrida, and stood, apparently in no sort of hurry to go.
    “We haven’t seen you for days. How are you?”
    “Oh, surviving. A bit fed up with this weather.”
    “Dreadful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Jennings chipped in.
    “Chilly and muggy all at once, doesn’t make you feel like doing anything. What have you got there, Mrs. Phipps?”
    Elfrida unloaded the contents of her basket, so that Mrs. Jennings could price them, and put it all through her till. A loaf of bread, half a dozen eggs, some bacon and butter, two tins of dog food, and a magazine called Beautiful Homes.
    “Want me to charge them?”
    “If you would; I’ve left my purse at home.”
    Oscar saw the magazine. He said, “Are you going to go in for some domestic improvements?”
    “Probably not. But I find reading about other people’s is therapeutic. I suppose because I know I haven’t got to get my paint-pot out. A bit like listening to somebody else cutting the grass.”
    Mrs. Jennings thought this was very funny.
    “Jennings put his mower away, back of September. Hates cutting the grass, he does.”
    Oscar watched while Elfrida reloaded her basket. He said, “I’ll give you a ride home, if you like.”
    “I don’t mind walking. I’ve got Horace with me.”
    “He’s welcome to join us. Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. Goodbye.”
    “Cheerio, Mr. Blundell. Regards to the wife.”
    Together, they emerged from the shop. Outside on the pavement, the youths still loitered. They had been joined by a dubious-looking girl with a cigarette, raven-black hair, and a leather skirt that scarcely reached to her crotch. Her presence seemed to have galvanized the young men into a pantomime of joshing, insults, and meaningless guffaws. Horace, trapped in the middle of such unseemly behaviour, sat and looked miserable. Elfrida untied his lead, and he wagged his tail, much relieved, and the three of them made their way around the corner and down the narrow lane where Oscar had left his old car. She got into the passenger seat, and Horace jumped up and sat on the floor, between her knees, with his head pressed onto her lap. As Oscar joined them, slammed the door, and switched on the ignition, she said, “I never expect to meet anyone in the shop in the afternoons. Mornings are the social time. That’s when you get all the chat.”
    “I know. But Gloria’s in London, and I forgot about the papers.” He turned the car and nosed out into the main street. School for the day was over, and the pavements were busy with a procession of tired and grubby children, trailing satchels and making their way home. The man in the churchyard had got his bonfire going, and grey smoke streamed up into the still, dank air.
    “When did Gloria go to London?”
    “Yesterday. For some meeting or other. Save the Children, I believe. She took the train. I’ve got to meet her off the six-thirty.”
    “Would you like to come back and have a cup of tea with me? Or would you prefer to return to your gardening?”
    “How do you know I’ve been gardening?”
    “Clues dropped. Woman’s intuition. Mud on your boots.”
    He laughed.
    “Perfectly correct, Mr. Holmes. But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea. Gardener’s perks.”
    They