Play Dead by Peter Dickinson Read Free Book Online

safe home? Radio 3 was Delius, moody-ethereal, so she’d put on a tape of Aida to buck herself up.
    A third gin? Wicked, and if she had a third there’d be only a couple more tots in the bottle and she’d be bound to have them too, even if she’d tried locking the bottle in the filing-box … Elias rubbed against her calves, purring like an outboard motor. She’d given him the can to lick with a few scraps in it, but the smell of mackerel on her plate roused him from his normal lethargic calm to gluttonous ecstasy.
    The doorbell rang. It would be those young men from that scheme, selling dusters and oven-gloves. Poppy balanced her plate on the lampshade, out of Elias’s reach, and went to the door trying to think of excuses. There’s a limit to the number of ironing-board covers a single woman in a basement flat can wear out in a year.
    It was Jim.
    â€˜Just thought I’d look round, see you’re all right,’ he said. ‘Mrs Tasker, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Oh, do come in. I’m so glad to see you. I was going to come and thank you tomorrow. You were marvellous. And I want to know what happened.’
    He didn’t hesitate but followed her into the living-room. Elias’s purr as he rubbed himself against the lamp-standard competed with Caballé. Poppy snatched the teetering plate and turned the volume down.
    â€˜That’s a cat and a half,’ said Jim. ‘Shown him, ever?’
    â€˜He hasn’t got a pedigree. He just turned up at a friend’s house three years ago, half starved, and they didn’t want to keep him. We thought he was full-grown then, but he wasn’t, nothing like. I’m afraid that if I showed him someone might say he was theirs.’
    â€˜Not a spot on him anywhere.’
    â€˜Actually he’s got an invisible black collar under the white. You can only see it when he’s moulting. He’s behaving like this because of the mackerel.’
    â€˜I’m stopping you eating your tea.’
    â€˜Don’t worry—it’s cold. Won’t you have something? I’ve got some gin. Or I could make some coffee.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t say no to a spot of gin and water.’
    â€˜Just water? Not tonic?’
    â€˜Water—about half and half.’
    â€˜Ice?’
    â€˜Bruises the gin, my dad used to say.’
    Now that she had the excuse Poppy gave herself a smaller tot than she might have if she’d been swigging defiantly alone.
    â€˜Ta,’ said Jim.
    â€˜How did you know my name? Where I lived?’
    â€˜Asked Mrs Jinja. How’re you feeling, then? Nasty that was for you. But you told the kiddie’s mum about it, acourse?
    â€˜Yes—she’s my daughter-in-law. I played it down a bit. I didn’t want to frighten her. But you’re right, Jim … I don’t know your other name …’
    â€˜Jim Bowles. Jim’ll do fine. Nobody calls me anything else these days.’
    â€˜I’m Poppy. It’s silly, but it can’t be helped. What was I saying?’
    â€˜Me being right about something.’
    â€˜Oh yes—it was nasty. Afterwards I felt as if I’d, well, had a rape attempt on me, myself.’
    â€˜Don’t blame you.’
    â€˜What did he say?’
    â€˜Effed and blinded a bit, and then he tried to make out as he was from the papers, following up a story. Hadn’t got a press pass, natch.’
    â€˜I keep asking myself what I’m going to do if he shows up again.’
    â€˜Came to see you about that. Now, first off … Hold it …’
    He was listening to the music, head cocked on one side and lips moving. Poppy rose and turned the volume up. It was the famous march, of course, but when he started to hum along he wasn’t following the main theme.
    â€˜Is that the woodwind?’ said Polly. ‘Bassoon?’
    â€˜Trombone,’ he said and returned to the music, absorbed as a child.