Falling For You by Giselle Green Read Free Book Online

that.
    ‘I’m really sorry, Rose. Look. Maybe the Post Office can do something about it. Ask them.’
    ‘I thought you were the Post office …’ I begin, but he runs on.
    ‘It’s just that - being Christmas and all - it’d surely be quicker to get it yourself? There’d be less red tape and all that? Give your neighbours a ring first. Maybe they’d be prepared to chain up those dogs for you?’
    ‘I can’t. Oh, for heaven’s sake! We haven’t actually spoken to them for … for years.’ He puts his phone away, having the grace to look at least a little concerned.
    ‘Will you be all right, Rose?’
    I stick my face in my hands and the cosy daydream I’d been having a few minutes ago disappears into the icy air. I’m on my own with this one, aren’t I? Just like I always am these days, for everything. I shake my head at him watching his face redden and then, before he can say another word, I turn on my heel.
    ‘Hey, Rose …’ he calls, but I ignore him.
    He’s not going to help me. He’s got a gig to go to and he thinks this’ll all be sorted with one quick phone call and a reconciliatory ‘Merry Christmas’ down the line. 
    If only he knew about us and the Macraes he’d understand.
    The dogs are by far the least of it.

Lawrence
     
     
    11.30 am      23rd December   West Camp village, Jaffna
     
    ‘ Christ .’ Dougie lifts up his hand as I come into the crowded tent which serves as his office area. My boss is shaking his head at me. He’s got his other hand covering the mouthpiece of his phone and he seems to be breathing unnaturally hard.
    I stop where I am. To say that he looks upset would be understating it. Fuck . I take in the time on my wristwatch. If he’s in the middle of some other crisis right now this is going to be damn inconvenient. I need his help, and I need it now, this can’t wait. I take a highlighter pen and write in big letters on a piece of paper ‘URGENT!’ and hold it up for him to see. He just narrows his eyes at me.
    ‘Macrae. With an M,’ he’s saying. ‘No, not a Y. That’s c-r-a-e at the end.’ What’s that? Who’s he speaking to? I get my boss’s attention, make a pointing motion with my finger.
    Me?
    He nods curtly and motions for me to sit. He goes quiet then, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the phone for what seems like a very long time. It doesn’t sound good. Who could be talking to him about me, I wonder? And Dougie doesn’t look too great, either. He’s put his hand to his head as if it suddenly feels heavy, his elbow propped wearily on the table. Whoever Dougie’s got on the other end of that line, he isn’t saying much in reply.
    While I wait I become slowly aware of the itch as a trickle of sweat is running down my back, the fact that my whole body seems to have become as tense as a coiled-up spring. In the silence in his tent I strain my ears to catch the odd word here and there but all I can pick up is what sounds like one very long, very angry rant at the other end. It goes on and on. Man, this really doesn’t sound good. It sounds like it’s something serious, whatever it is. Very serious.
    I rub at my face, and my skin feels tired and grubby. I haven’t shaved yet today, I remember. I haven’t had a shower. When I left my tent at the crack of dawn this morning that felt okay. Nobody much was about, the day hadn’t properly begun and it didn’t matter. Sitting in my boss’s office with an atmosphere fit to rival an electrical storm brewing, right now, it feels like it does matter. Who the hell is that on the end of the line?
    I don’t let myself think of the worst it could be.
    I came away from all that years ago. I came away and I’ve stayed away. Time and distance - and constant occupation, so that the mind’s never allowed to dwell on the past - I’ve found these to be great healers. No, it won’t be that .
    The only other thing that comes into my mind is that Aid Abroad guy who I just went to see.