Eighty Days Red by Vina Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

roof, a rag-tag bunch of nannies, harassed mothers and unruly toddlers were gathered, indifferently watching the storm.
One of the mothers stood in one corner, her blouse unbuttoned, offering her breast to a baby. The small one’s head was almost totally hairless and its scalp a delicate pink, its face all crunched up in a parody of either concentration or just sleep. Dominik watched them with deep fascination, couldn’t keep his eyes away until the mother noticed him staring and gave him the dirtiest look she could summon. He was obliged to walk away, down the steps and into the clearing rain, angry at himself and annoyed by the fact he was now obliged to share the magic of the place with all these strangers.
Lauralynn had brought someone back with her the previous night.
Even though the bedroom she was using was on a different floor of the house, Dominik was kept awake most of the night by the noises the two women couldn’t help themselves making: cushioned moans, sharp shrieks, muffled growls of pleasure or pain, indistinct words half whispered or cried out at peak moments, a whole curious symphony of unrolling lust.
He briefly caught sight of Lauralynn’s guest as he came down to breakfast late the following day and the girl was on her way out. A goth-like waif, all dyed jet-black hair amateurishly cut in a short bob by a blunt pair of scissors, a fearsome silver skull necklace like a collar separating her head from the rest of her body, and a blur of faded tattoos snaking all the way down her right leg. He was glad Lauralynn had not invited him to join them.
Lauralynn, having escorted her friend to the door wearing nothing but a pair of French knickers and an unbuttoned man’s shirt, returned to the kitchen and handed Dominik a mug of freshly brewed coffee.
‘A new one?’ he asked, taking the coffee.
‘Yes. Picked her up at a gig,’ Lauralynn said.
‘She didn’t look the classical type,’ Dominik remarked.
‘Nah. Rock ’n’ roll, man. She was hanging with some guys I did some session overdubs for. Neo punks, whatever they call themselves. They invited me to see them play in Camden Town. She was there and, you know,’ Lauralynn said with a lascivious smile on her full lips, ‘one thing led to another.’
‘The diversity of your tastes will always amaze me,’ he pointed out.
‘I’ll try anything once,’ Lauralynn said. ‘But I knew she wasn’t your type, so I didn’t try and wake you.’
‘You have all my gratitude for that—’
He almost spat out his coffee. She’d forgotten to put sugar in it.
‘Careful there …’
‘So what are you doing today?’ he asked her.
‘I have to be at the recording studio in Willesden from midday. I’m booked up for the rest of the week. The guys in the band don’t seem to know what sort of sound they’re after. The only reason they need a cello is that the bass player wants an “Eleanor Rigby” mood, or whatever, on the track.’
Dominik nodded, taking in her torrent of words.
‘Easy money,’ Lauralynn continued. ‘I’m not complaining. I spend much of the time there reading magazines and I’m being paid for it at union rates. And you? Making much progress with the new book?’
Dominik hadn’t listened to the Beatles’ song in ages, and was unsure for a moment whether it did feature a cello. Or had it been a string section?
‘Not much,’ he admitted, his mind suddenly elsewhere, inwardly humming the tune to ‘Eleanor Rigby’.
Lauralynn took the empty coffee mugs to the sink and ran the water over them before placing them in the dishwasher.
‘If you’re so uncertain about what you’re writing, maybe you should let me have a look. I could help?’ she said.
‘Hmm …’ Dominik feigned interest.
‘I liked the Paris novel,’ she added. ‘A lot. Not saying it just because we’re mates, you know.’
There was nothing he could decently show her yet. Unfinished scenes, thinly sketched lists of random characters, descriptions of places and