S.O.S. by Joseph Connolly Read Free Book Online Page B

glanced across in the direction – Rollo was energetically and sideways jerking his head – but actually, frankly, couldn’t quite focus on much because she hadn’t got her
contacts
in, right, but she wasn’t about to tell Rollo that because then he’d start in on his blind-as-a-bat routine and it’s hell, quite honestly: you just can’t win with Rollo because if I ever wear my
glasses
(and they’re really cool, Ithink – designer frames, the lot) he calls me (‘four-eyes’) and it’s no good me saying Oh
God
, Rollo, if you’re going to be insulting at least you could be a bit
original
about it, couldn’t you, hm? I mean honestly – ‘four-eyes’: bit
prep
school, isn’t it, dear heart?
    â€˜Can’t you see him?’ hissed an irritated Rollo. ‘
There
… over
there
. Prat in black.’
    â€˜Rollo,’ said Nicole – absently in a way, though still with the edge of urgency lurking beneath what she liked to think was a maternal overtone. ‘Don’t just
kick
your bag along like that. Lift it – it won’t kill you.’
    â€˜Oh yeh …’ said Marianne. ‘I see him. God – how odd. Dad? Dad? See this guy?’
    David had quite rightly judged it only a matter of time before someone – most likely Marianne, if it wasn’t to be outright abuse – addressed to him some or other comment on some or other topic, and so he now breathed in sharply and put all he could muster into chivvying along the not-yet-dead muscles in his lower face and around the chin (and oh God yes – don’t forget, will you, to open your bloody eyes) – urging them to rally round (come on, lads) into a semblance of animation and a passably fair simulation of ready-for-it eagerness.
    â€˜See what, love?’
    Didn’t sound too odd, he was reasonably sure:
felt
it, though, by God: it was as if he was using someone else’s lips. And the pressure, now, at the base of my skull is coming very close to shutting me down. The war in my stomach I can just about subdue – but if I don’t get down a very swift couple of (oh God) sharpeners in double-quick time, then we’re booked for a bout of horizontal groaning (curtains firmly closed and a bucket of Nurofen) and I don’t think, do you, in these rather singular circumstances (on this bloody day of all bloody days) that such behaviour would altogether endear me to my doting wife and help-meet?(Or, let’s put it another way: make her loathe me less?)
    â€˜Oh God – Dad never sees
anything
,’ spat out Rollo, with true impatience, as well as what struck David as open disgust. ‘
There
!
There
! Christ what’s
wrong
with you? The bloke in
black
…!’
    â€˜We’re next, now,’ said Nicole, quite hurriedly (hadn’t been hearing any of all this: over the years, you are vaguely aware of so much background pointless droning, but God – you don’t waste time by paying attention, no: it passes soon enough). ‘Pick
up
your bag, Rollo. How many times?’
    â€˜See him, Dad?’ urged Marianne. ‘Three queues down.’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ said David. ‘I do see him now. Hm. God – once you’ve actually focused, he really does stand out, doesn’t he?’
    â€˜That’s what I’ve bloody been
saying
,’ growled Rollo.
    David, Marianne and Rollo continued to gaze in silence at Tom. Other people too were not quite casually taking in his singular appearance (if you’re stuck in a queue – and this ship
will
eventually, won’t it, sail? – then any sort of diversion can only be a good thing). Tom himself seemed quite unaware.
Was
unaware – had been, in truth, over every night and day he could recently recall. He had said nothing to the girl in the office over there, when he handed back the