Breaking Light by Karin Altenberg Read Free Book Online Page B

his coat pocket. Putting it on gave him a moment to recompose himself. ‘I plant because I want my day to be a little bit more beautiful, if possible,’ he admitted, and dared look her in the eye.
    She looked at the snowdrops and scilla at his feet and nodded. ‘These flowers are new to me; they are very pretty. You’re lucky to have such insouciance. I sow vegetables because they offer me a sense of belonging –’ she pushed her spade harder into the earth with surprising strength – ‘and something to tend to,’ she added.
    He nodded. And then he remembered what he had come to tell her. ‘I intend to plant an herbaceous border.’ His hand indicated gently where. ‘It will be very … colourful in a few months. You see, it was you who inspired me, this morning.’
    It will become her beauty, he thought to himself, and the flawed day seemed suddenly perfect.

2
    â€˜I do not drink, take drugs or get caught up in trafficking,’ the strange woman on his doorstep said defiantly, and added, ‘I want to make it clear that I’m not like one of them Eastern Europeans.’
    Mr Askew only stared.
    â€˜I wouldn’t normally answer an ad, you understand –’ she tried to look under – and then over – his arm which held open the door – ‘but, as there’s less to do up at the farm these days, I thought I might be charitable and help a neighbour who’s new to the community.’
    She was waving a piece of paper in front of him, a piece of paper, he realised, with his own handwriting on it. It was the note he had put up on the board at the post office, advertising for a cleaning lady. How he regretted it now. But it was too late for that, quite clearly. He looked beyond her, towards the canopy of green leaves that fringed his property. At least I still have the trees to myself, he thought, and lowered his eyes to her. She was a short and compact kind of woman and, if it hadn’t been for her bum, which presented itself in too-tight denim, she would have been altogether unremarkable.
    â€˜It’s only for a couple of hours a week, you do realise?’
    â€˜Most respectable homes around here are normally cleanedfor at least four hours a week.’ She was beginning to sound impatient.
    â€˜Oh. All right; let’s agree on three hours, then,’ because he would always compromise.
    â€˜Fine. I’ll start on Friday,’ she said, thinking it was her own triumph.
    He sighed and began to close the door.
    â€˜Ah-ah-ah!’ She might just as well have put her foot in the gap.
    He looked at her again.
    â€˜I insist that you supply me with rubber gloves and cleaning products. Mr Muscle do the best ones.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, yes, if you say so …’ He sounded nervous and hoped she didn’t notice.
    â€˜See you on Friday, then.’
    â€˜Yes, yes.’ Closing the door at last, he tried to offer her a smile with his mended mouth.
    As he leant his forehead against the closed door, he could hear her footsteps departing on the gravel outside. He realised that she had been wearing a pair of very white trainers that looked as if they had just been taken out of their box. The whole thing unsettled him. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to have somebody come into his home to move around his things – bounce her large bum against his furniture? He imagined the soles of the white trainers squeaking on his parquet and winced. You stupid fool! Well, it was done now. He hadn’t even asked her name. He felt damp and his shirt was sticking to his back. He waited a little longer before walking into the drawing room, where he could watch the gravel drive and the lawns from behind the curtains. Grabbing at the worn folds of green velvet, he squinted at the light, which seemed suddenly to have turnedagainst him. She was nowhere to be seen – but still he imagined