From the Dead by Billingham Mark

Author:Billingham, Mark [Billingham, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Little Brown
Published: 2010-08-18T22:00:00+00:00

Having flown in the face of all her instincts and been extra nice to Frank, she had still not been allowed to leave the office a minute before five-thirty, so Anna had hit the rush hour full on. It had taken almost an hour and a half to drive the eight miles from Victoria to her parents’ place in Wimbledon. Plenty of time to ask herself why she was bothering.

And to build up her courage.

Even so, having pulled up outside the house, she needed another five minutes before she felt ready to go inside. She sat in the car and stared at what had once been her home: a four-bedroom house with a decent garden and views over the common, no more than a ten-minute walk from the All England Club.

‘That’ll all be yours one day,’ her friend Rob had said.

‘I think I’ve been written out of the will,’ Anna had said.

Neither of them had really been joking.

Now, her father turned from the fridge and carried the milk across to where Anna was sitting at the kitchen table.

‘Must be some weird, primal thing,’ Anna said. ‘Every time I come back here I get this urge to eat cereal.’

Her father smiled. ‘I always make sure I’ve got some in.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I only ever have a slice of toast, and your mum . . .’

‘Right, I know. If she was having Rice Krispies, it wouldn’t be milk she’d be pouring over them.’ Anna glanced up and saw the look on her father’s face. ‘Stupid joke. Sorry . . .’

She started eating.

‘She’ll be glad you’ve come, you know.’

‘What?’

‘I told her you were coming over and she will ask me all about it later, when you’ve gone.’

‘When she’s sober.’

‘She’ll ask me what we talked about.’

‘If I said anything about her, you mean.’

Her father searched for the words but gave up and turned away. He picked up a cloth that was draped over the sink and began wiping the work surfaces. Anna watched him, thinking: This nonsense is making him older. It’s ridiculous . . .

Robert Carpenter was still a year or two the right side of sixty, and until recently had worked full time at one of the city’s largest accounting firms. But he had been going into the office less and less since his wife had begun drinking heavily again, and Anna knew that his firm’s tolerance would last only so long. She felt guilty about it every day, although she knew very well that it was not her fault.

‘She does talk about you, you know.’

Anna dropped her spoon and sat back hard in her chair. She saw that her father was startled, but she was too irritated with him to care a great deal. ‘You’ve really got to stop doing that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Talking about her in those ridiculous hushed tones, like she’s the mad woman in the attic or something.’

‘I didn’t realise I was.’

‘She hasn’t lost her marbles . . . yet. She’s just a stupid, stubborn old cow.’

‘Don’t get all worked up—’

‘A stubborn, pissed old cow.

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