Crossfire by Dick;Felix Francis Francis Read Free Book Online Page A

been right.
    “We must be able to afford it,” wailed my mother. “I’ve had the best year ever with the horses.”
    “Yes, you have, but we’ve also had other things to contend with, not least the ongoing fallout from your disastrous little scheme.” My stepfather’s voice was full of incrimination and displeasure.
    “Please don’t start all that again.” Her tone was suddenly more conciliatory and apologetic.
    “But it’s true,” my stepfather went on mercilessly. “Without that, we would’ve easily been able to buy you a new BMW. As it is . . . well, let’s just hope our old Ford doesn’t need too much work done on it. Things are tight at present.”
    I wondered what disastrous little scheme could have resulted in things being so tight financially that one of the top trainers in the country was unable to upgrade her old Ford to a new BMW. But she had never before seemed to care about what sort of car she drove.
    I would have loved to listen to them for a while longer. However, I really didn’t want to get caught snooping, so I carefully stood up and silently swiveled back and forth on my good foot from the kitchen table to the back door. It was a technique I had developed to get around my hospital bed at night once I had removed my prosthesis. I was getting quite good at heel-andtoeing, as the physiotherapists had called it.
    I could still hear my mother at high volume. “For God’s sake, Derek, there must be something we can do.”
    “What do you suggest?” my stepfather shouted back at her. “We don’t even know who it is.”
    I opened the back door a few inches, then closed it with a bang.
    Their conversation stopped.
    I walked through from the kitchen to the hall, my right foot making its familiar clink whenever I put it down. My mother came out of the open office door.
    “Hello,” I said, as genially as I could.
    “Hello, darling,” she replied, again placing too much emphasis on the “dar.” She took a step towards me, and I thought for a fleeting second she was going to give me a kiss, but she didn’t. “Tell me,” she said, “how much longer are you planning to stay?”
    “I’ve only just arrived,” I said, smiling. “I hadn’t thought about leaving just yet.”
    Oh yes, I had.
    “It’s just that one has to make plans,” my mother said. “It’s not that I want you to go, of course, it’s just I would like to have some idea of when.”
    “I haven’t even worked out where I would go,” I said.
    “But you would go back to the army.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “It’s not as simple as that. They want to give me time to get over the injuries. And even then, they’re not sure they actually want me anymore. They’ll decide when I go back after my leave.”
    “What?” She sounded genuinely shocked. “But they have to have you. You were injured while working for them, so surely they must have an obligation to go on employing you.”
    “Mum, it’s not like any other job,” I said. “I would have to be fit and able to fight. That’s what soldiers do.”
    “But there must be something else you could do,” she argued. “They must need people to organize things, people to do the paperwork. Surely those don’t have to be fit enough to run round and fight?”
    My stepfather came to the office door and leaned on the frame.
    “Josephine, my dear. I don’t think Tom here would be prepared to be in the army simply to push paper round a desk.” He looked me in the eyes and, for the first time in twenty-four years, I thought there might be some flicker of understanding between us.
    “Derek is so right,” I said.
    “So for how long have the army sent you home on leave?” my mother asked. “How long before they decide if they want you back or not?”
    “Six months.”
    “Six months! But you can’t possibly stay here six months.”
    That was clearly true. I had arrived only eighteen hours previously, and I had already been there too long for her