Dancing Towards the Blade and Other Stories by Mark Billingham Read Free Book Online Page A

dropped his elbows to his knees almost immediately.
    Looked at the pavement.
    Made sure she didn’t get a good look at his face.
    The next High Barnet train was still eight minutes away.
    Rachel stood on the platform, her legs still shaking, the burning in her breast a little less fierce with every minute that passed. The pain had been good. It had stopped her thinking too much; stopped her wondering. She sought a little more of it, thrusting her hand into her pocket until she found her wedding ring, then driving the edge of it hard against the fingernail until she felt it split.
    Alan had thought it odd that she still took the ring off even after she’d told him the truth, but it made perfect sense to her. Its removal had always been more about freedom than deceit.
    An old woman standing next to her nudged her arm and nodded toward the electronic display.
    Correction. High Barnet. 1 min.
    ‘There’s a stroke of luck,’ the woman said.
    Rachel looked at the floor. She didn’t raise her head again until she heard the train coming.

 
    It was probably not the nicest hotel in Huntsville, but I had a good idea that it wasn’t the worst either, so I didn’t have a lot to complain about. Truth was, I’d booked the Palms over the internet, so I didn’t know too much about anything until I checked in. Besides which, I’d stayed in places that made this one seem like the damn Ritz, so I was happy enough with a bed I could sleep in and food that didn’t come back to haunt me.
    That was when I first saw her – in the restaurant at the Huntsville Palms Hotel.
    It was seven o’clock or somewhere around there and the place was pretty packed and she was sitting at a big table just across from my small one. She and everyone else at the table with her were talking in hushed voices, which made a nice change from the loudmouth pair behind me who talked about the cost of bedroom furniture for an hour or more, like they were saving the planet or some shit. I turned around to stare at one point. I was hoping they’d see that they were putting me right off my chicken-fried steak, but it didn’t do any good. I really don’t know how either of them had the time to eat anything with all that jabbering, but they clearly did because they both looked like Mack trucks with heads.
    I’d seen a lot of people that size since I’d arrived in Texas.
    From where I was sitting I didn’t have a great view of her, but what I could see looked pretty good, so I kept glancing over and eventually she turned to try and catch the eye of the waitress. There wasn’t really a moment between us, nothing like that. But there was maybe a half-smile or something before she got the waitress’s attention and turned away. I just kept on eating and flicking through the local paper, happy enough to make up the rest of it in my head, the way men do sometimes.
    She presses something into my hand when I run into her on the way out of the men’s room. Her room number scrawled on a napkin.
    She says, ‘Let’s not bother with names,’ when we get together later on, while she’s looking me straight in the eye and taking off her shirt. ‘Let’s just enjoy each other,’ she whispers. ‘Get out of our heads and go crazy for one night …’
    There was plenty of strong drink on her table, bottles of beer and red wine. It looked like some sort of family party, even though nobody looked too excited to be there or smiled a whole lot. Looking back, it’s not hard to understand why, but at the time I didn’t think a great deal of it. There weren’t a whole lot of parties in what passes for my family, so it’s not like I’m any great expert or anything. They were putting it away, is all I’m saying, her as much as anyone, reaching for those bottles to fill in the silences. That time she tried to find a waitress? That was so she could order another couple beers.
    ‘You like what you see?’ she says, when she’s finally naked, and I think it’s pretty obvious