Fallout by Sadie Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

Rocking slightly and rubbing his palms on his knees, he watched her as she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. She looked up.
    ‘What?’ she said, interrupted by his staring at her.
    ‘Who are we meeting?’ he asked.
    Grudgingly, she held out the paper. It was very crumpled. Luke took it. It was warm from her pocket. It said in pencil, Joe Furst, 7p.m., Bell Inn, Seston . He handed it back as Paul came over with two pints and a small glass of something cloudy-looking for Leigh. He put the drinks down.
    ‘I got you a gin and tonic.’
    She looked nonplussed. ‘But I didn’t want anything. Thanks.’
    She had a strong face with wide cheekbones, high up, right under her eyes that reminded him of somebody, but he didn’t know who.
    ‘Well, he’s not bloody here, if that’s what you were wondering,’ said Paul.
    ‘Joe Furst?’ said Luke.
    Paul jerked a thumb at Luke. ‘How does he know?’ he said to Leigh.
    ‘But who is Joe Furst?’ asked Luke.
    ‘He’s a writer.’
    Luke hadn’t thought they were seeing a man about a dog but still he was shocked. The word writer coming out of Paul’s mouth. It was as if he were having a conversation he had dreamed, a moment he had lived, but forgotten. He had never, he realised, in his life heard anyone referred to as a writer before. He grew sharper, quickening, and tried to cover it, knowing he was sharp enough at the best of times for most people.
    ‘He’s a what?’
    Leigh glanced at him briefly, sipping her drink.
    Paul said, ‘A writer . Heard of him?’
    His sarcasm bounced off Luke who smiled. ‘No. What are you meeting him about?’
    ‘A play he’s written.’
    ‘For what?’
    ‘For what? For the theatre. For fun. For money. I don’t bloody know. It’s a play.’
    Luke’s mind was buzzing, too fast for comfort. He looked around the Bell End – took in the black piano, the peeling carpet, the derelict fireplace, the yellow walls and fake flowers in an earthenware pot . . . What would Joe Furst, playwright , be doing here? What in God’s name would he be doing in Seston and, if he was, why didn’t Luke know about it? Joe Furst. A bloody writer.
    ‘Why’d you want to meet him?’ he asked Paul. ‘What’s his play got to do with you?’
    ‘I’m a producer.’
    At this bold statement Leigh cast Paul a look and then her eyes went down again to her lap.
    Luke had an instinct for thin ice. The ground beneath his own feet was too fragile not to have a good sense of other people’s weaknesses. He could tell Paul didn’t want to say anything else.
    ‘Are you an actress, then?’ he said to Leigh instead.
    ‘No.’ She looked bored, angry to be asked, and Luke was surprised; most girls were pleased if you asked them that. Paul looked at him as if to say, See what I put up with? And shook his head. Luke couldn’t work out if they were together or not.
    ‘So what’s in Nottingham, then?’ he asked Paul. ‘Been to the Playhouse? Did you see The Resistible Rise ? The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui ?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Paul.
    ‘Was it good?’
    ‘What you asking me for?’
    ‘I didn’t see it,’ said Luke.
    ‘Right.’ Paul squinted, trying to get the measure of him.
    ‘ Othello ?’ Luke ploughed on. ‘Last year?’
    ‘I thought they fucked it up.’
    ‘Did you?’
    ‘Yes, Robert Ryan’s just a movie star,’ said Paul. ‘What did you think?’
    ‘Didn’t see it. Read it.’
    He could feel Leigh’s eyes on him.
    ‘ Oedipus ?’ Paul asked him.
    ‘Didn’t see it,’ said Luke. ‘Read it.’
    ‘Read it?’
    ‘ Oedipus Rex ? Yeah. A few times . . .’
    ‘It’s Nottingham ,’ said Paul, gesturing over his shoulder as if the city were just there in the street outside, ‘it’s not Broadway.’
    ‘Well, I – I’m busy.’
    ‘Busy doing what?’
    ‘I work in the office at the paper mill.’
    Paul nodded, respectfully. ‘Ah.’ He picked up his drink.
    ‘And nights in a place up the road sometimes.’
    Paul nodded again,