Hands of the Ripper by Guy Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

said, ‘lunch first, talk later.’
    ‘All right,’ his father agreed, picking at a pasta salad. He had no enthusiasm for his lunch, too impatient to eat. His life seemed to be stuck in a state of anticipation and unease, his evenings filled with confrontations he wanted and yet feared. Now Michael, the most laid-back son one could imagine, ‘wanted to talk’. He imagined it would be something to do with work. John wasn’t blind to the fact that Michael hadn’t seemed to have had any for some time. It was a subject on which he never pried, knowing that Michael’s pride would put him on the defensive as soon as the subject came up. His son had been a jobbing actor for the last twelve years, having jacked in a promising career in law in order to ‘follow his dream’. John had always supported the decision – life was miserable enough at times without doing a job you loathed – but he would be a liar if he didn’t admit that he wished a more stable lifestyle for his son. The work, when it came, was reasonably paid but the long periods between jobs sapped Michael’s confidence and John hated seeing the morose and uncommunicative man he sometimes became as a result.
    ‘You know I said about Laura and I getting a place together?’ his son said after finally finishing his food.
    John speared a particularly slippery piece of red pepper with his fork and nodded.
    ‘Well, in truth I’ve been suggesting it because of money more than anything else. It seemed to make sense that we chip in for one place rather than paying for two. Thing is, she’s talking about buying a place but you know what my life’s like, I just can’t afford to commit to a mortgage. But how do I tell her? I don’t want her to think that I’m having cold feet, don’t want to panic her about the lousy proposition she’s taking on either …’
    ‘Laura’s not worried about that sort of thing.’
    ‘She should be, everyone should be these days, nobody’s got any money and things are getting worse not better.’
    ‘As true as that might be she still isn’t going to run a mile because you’re not Rockefeller.’
    Michael smiled. ‘I don’t even know who Rockefeller is.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter, just being old … you get my point though.’
    ‘I guess. Still doesn’t solve the problem though does it? And to make things worse, Laura
has
to move. The landlord’s selling the place off, wants to go and open a restaurant in Spain or something.’
    ‘Any chance she could get a waitressing job?’
    ‘Be serious, Dad! I’m worried.’
    ‘I know, sorry.’ John gave up on his pasta salad, slowly sealing the plastic tub closed again and tossing it into the wastepaper bin. ‘What about my place?’ he asked finally.
    ‘What about it?’
    ‘I don’t need a three-bedroom house, do I? Your mother and I always promised each other that we’d sell up and get something smaller. Once you’d left we rattled around the place. We just never seemed to get around to it. Of course, once she got ill it was the least of our concerns.’ He took a sip of his tea, wanting to wash away the mental image of Jane lying in bed, wilting under the sheets like rotting vegetation. ‘We could split the place up, maybe. I could take the downstairs, turn the dining room into a bedroom, you could have upstairs.’
    ‘It’s your home.’ Michael was shocked by the idea, uncertain of what to say.
    ‘Wouldn’t be any less so if I shared it with you, would it ? Of course I know it’s not ideal, you and Laura would want your privacy, that’s why I think we should turn it into two flats, give each other our space. It wouldn’t be difficult. Or that expensive.’
    ‘I don’t know …’ Michael squirmed. ‘It’s very kind, don’t think I’m not grateful.’
    ‘You’d want to think about it, of course. The last thing a young couple needs is an old man cluttering up the place.’
    ‘It’s not that. It’s, well, it’s where Mum died, you know?’
    John did