Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas by Robert G. Barrett Read Free Book Online Page A

shoved against one wall with a small laminex table and two chairs. The cold water kitchen had a gas heater, a small stove and a fridge and from the sickly yellow glow of a single light bulb, in a white shade hanging from the ceiling Les noticed a bit of a wardrobe against another wall and a door that probably led to a bathroom. A large bottle of opened beer sat on the table and, oddly enough, a suitcase half full of clothes sat on the night-and-day. The Ritz it wasn’t and the stark poverty of the surroundings made Les feel quite uncomfortable. So this is how the other half live eh? Yet what the little caretaker had said about the two estate agents made him curious.
    As the caretaker moved around the table and poured himself another beer, Les noticed he had a pronounced limp.
    â€˜So what’s your name anyway, son?’ he asked.
    â€˜Les.’
    â€˜I’m Harry,’ replied the caretaker, offering his hand. ‘But everybody calls me Hoppy.’
    Norton took his callused handshake. ‘Nice to meet you... Hoppy.’
    The caretaker looked evenly at Les. ‘So, how come you got the job?’
    â€˜I... just saw it in the local paper,’ lied Norton. ‘I didn’t really know what was going on. I hope I’m not doing you out of a job.’
    â€˜Hah! You’re not doing me out of job, mate. I was pissin’ off anyway.’ Acting like he’d just got one up on Les, the little caretaker continued to pack clothes into the suitcase.
    â€˜My sister’s husband just died up in Newcastle. Left her a big house and plenty of money. She’s on her own and I’m going up to join her.’
    Norton’s day suddenly brightened up. ‘Ohh, that’s real good then.’
    â€˜Reckon. I can get out of this flea-bitten dump.’ Hoppy looked at Les a little suspiciously. ‘So you’re gonna be the new caretaker of Blue Seas, eh? You sure don’t look like you’re short of a quid.’
    â€˜I just got divorced, Hoppy. The bloody moll took the house, the kids and every zac I had. I’m doing it tough, mate, don’t worry about that.’
    â€˜I know what you mean. I got divorced myself. I also used to be a pretty good jockey once, till a couple of horses went over me at Rosehill about thirty years ago.’
    â€˜Shit! That’s no good, mate.’
    The little caretaker patted his right leg. ‘That’s why the limp. And why they call me Hoppy.’ He took a mouthful of beer. ‘You want a glass?’ Les shook his head. ‘Coffee?’
    â€˜Yeah. I could go a coffee.’
    Olsen nodded to the kitchen. ‘Well, help yourself while I finish packing.’
    â€˜Okay.’
    Norton fossicked around in the kitchen finding the jug, coffee and a clean mug. As he waited for the jug to boil, he thought it might be a good time to pump the caretaker for a bit of information.
    â€˜So, how longVe you been here, Hoppy?’
    â€˜Close enough to three years.’
    â€˜You know who owns the joint?’
    â€˜Haven’t a clue. I think it’s one of the estate agent’s reffo mates. But I’m glad it’s not me,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘The place is a dump.’
    â€˜Yeah, I got to agree with you there,’ said Les, tryingnot to sound depressed. He made his coffee and pulled up a chair while the caretaker finished packing. ‘When are you leaving?’ he asked.
    â€˜Soon as I finish packing this suitcase,’ replied Olsen. ‘I’m off, quicker than Moshe Dayan’s foreskin.’
    â€˜What about your furniture and that?’
    Olsen laughed. ‘Mate. It’s all fuckin’ yours.’
    Norton had to laugh back. ‘How are you getting to Newcastle?’
    â€˜Train.’
    â€˜I can give you a lift to Central, if you like.’
    â€˜Okay, Les. That’d be good.’
    â€˜On one condition.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜You’ve