Damascus by Richard Beard Read Free Book Online

took a deep breath. All he had to do was open the door and step outside. He would come to no harm. The last time and the time before that the traffic had been unusually frenetic, or in the street an unscrupulous contractor had been using paint with a high solvent-content, poisoning William’s nerves, increasing his heartbeat, deflating his resolve. High-solvent paints were everywhere. It was often in the paper.
    He should pull himself together. Even though it was the last day of Britain he was still British, and people not unlike him had until very recently controlled a quarter of the earth. There was therefore no need to be frightened, and he could manage perfectly well without Spencer.
    He failed to reach out for the latch and corrected himself: it was only good sense to be frightened. He checked his braces and his flies. He tried to flatten his hair. His knowledge of outside life came almost exclusively from the daily paper, and hidden away on the inside pages of
The Times
were most of the modern possibilities of a day, including stabbiegs, shootings, stranglings, muggings, stonings, and a single instance of murder by a poisoned pellet fired from a customised umbrella. He could be shot in the face at point-blank range, abducted, tortured, left for dead on forgotten wasteground where he wouldn’t be discovered for more than a month. It never seemed to get any better. As of today, for example, someone out there had nearly two thousand pounds of stolen Czech Semtex, of which any one pound could turn up under a nearby car wrapped in an Irish or Algerian or Libyan flag. William would die instantly, or on the way to hospital, or in surgery, and all this was as true for the new Europe as it was for the old Britain. There were mad killer nutcases everywhere, and when not hiding behind black hoods they looked just like everyone else. It was only natural, therefore, faced with the front door and these possibilities for outside life, that William should hesitate to reach for the latch.
    He noticed the junk mail on the mat. Sighing, he supposed he should pick it all up, and by pushing aside two copies of the Yellow Pages he found space for it on the telephone table. He discovered, now that he was suddenly inclined to count them, that there were sixteen items, including an introductory offer for American Express Membership Miles Points, a subscription discount for
Antique Collector
magazine, a 2 for 1 coupon from Pizza Express, and a prize draw from the Leukaemia Research Fund.
Don’t Delay!
this last envelope was franked,
It Could Be Your Lucky Day!
    Of course it could, and William was about to open the door and step outside and come to no harm when Spencer nearly gave him a heart attack. Or at least, Spencer was behind him and William didn’t realise and then Spencer said something. He said:
    â€˜Already finished the paper?’
    â€˜God you gave me a shock,’ William said, recovering himself.
    â€˜Going out on your own?’
    â€˜Maybe.’
    â€˜I thought you wanted an escort?’
    â€˜And maybe not.’
    William stared hard at the empty Celtic mug in Spencer’s hand, with its obvious rim-prints of lipstick like an extra design.
    'Things change,’ William said.
    Spencer shook his head and turned towards the kitchen. William followed him. ‘How
could
you?’
    â€˜We always knew this might happen.’
    â€˜But not like this. It should have been with Jessica.’
    â€˜I don’t see what difference it makes.’
    'If it’s not Jessica you might be wrong. What colour hair does she have?’
    â€˜Who?’
    'This other one.’
    â€˜Her name is Hazel.’
    â€˜What’s she doing now?’
    â€˜She’s busy.’
    â€˜What’s she doing?’
    â€˜She’s reading. I gave her one of my library books.’
    Spencer stacked Hazel’s mug in the sink with the rest of the washing-up, then looked William in the eye as he wiped his hands