Here Come the Girls by Milly Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

was no way Doreen could wait that long for a nicotine fix.
    Because she was alone in the house, she didn’t have to go through the pretence of struggling to her ailing legs. She stood up fairly effortlessly, despite her bulk, and crossed the room for her purse. She double-checked the clock. Nope, no one would be around for ages yet. She had plenty of time to nip out to the newsagent on Warren Street and replenish her stocks.
    She opened the front door cautiously and poked her head left and then right. The street was totally clear. Doreen stepped out, walking stick under her arm, and closed the door quickly behind her. She moved so nippily down the street, there was smoke coming off her slippers.
    Just as Doreen had turned the corner from Land Lane into Warren Street, a scruffy yellow Volvo pulled up doors short of the Hardcastle home.
    ‘Drop me off here, will you, Gary mate,’ said David to the driver. He didn’t want anyone peering out of the window and seeing him carrying his bag of tools. ‘Have you got my money?’
    ‘I have,’ said Gary, levering on the hand-brake then fishing deep in his pocket for a brown envelope. ‘Cash in hand as agreed.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ve got a couple of soffit jobs for you next week – I’ll ring you on the moby. Probably Wednesday or Thursday, providing it’s not pissing down.’
    ‘Smashing,’ said David. Fixing soffits onto the roofs of houses was a good little earner and he was loaded at the moment because of all the work Gary had put his way. But he didn’t want to overdo it or risk the benefits people rumbling that he wasn’t incapacitated, after all. Or worse – Olive finding out that he was fit and well enough to run after himself. He couldn’t do without her molly-coddling him, or his mum mothering him; he had got far too used to that.
    David climbed out of the car and swung his huge bag of tools onto his strong back, giving Gary a friendly wave as he drove off. Slyly, he opened the door to the garage at the side of the house and threw in his bag. Then he began his preparation for entering the house. His shoulders slumped and a hang-dog look of back pain crept over his features. He hobbled the few steps to the front of the house and took out his key, fully – and safely – back in character. He was so chuffed with himself, he didn’t see the figure across the street hiding in the alley.
    Ven’s mobile rang just as she was checking her ‘money, tickets, passport’ for the zillionth time. She didn’t recognise the Barnsley number on the caller display so answered it tentatively. ‘Hello.’
    ‘It’s me,’ said Olive, her voice shaking.
    ‘Hiya, Ol. You okay?’
    ‘Oh Ven, I don’t know what to do.’
    ‘Whatever’s the matter, love?’ said Ven. ‘What’s upset you?’
    ‘Upset? Ha!’ said Olive in a suddenly very strong voice. ‘I’m not upset, I’m bloody livid. You were both right. I am stupid and I deserve the biggest slap . . .’
    ‘Ol, calm down and talk slower,’ said Ven firmly. ‘Where are you?’
    ‘The phone box just outside the post office on Ketherwood Street,’ said Olive, breathing in and out so hard, it was as if she was revving herself up for a fight with Muhammad Ali.
    ‘Don’t move. I’m driving round for you now.’
    Olive was in a terrible state. One second she looked as if she was going to burst into tears, then her mood suddenly segued into homicidal mania.
    ‘Blimey, what on earth’s up?’ said Ven, as Olive threw herself into the passenger seat of her car and buckled herself in.
    ‘I believe you. I believe David has been swinging the lead and claiming benefits for a bad back when there’s bugger all wrong with him, and I believe that Doreen can get up off her fat lumpy arse and tottle down to the shops. I also believe that the whole bloody Hardcastle family thinks I’m a doormat and I’ve been pathetic enough to let them treat me like that. Will I ever learn?’
    ‘Wow,’ said Ven,