The Birthday Present by Pamela Oldfield Read Free Book Online Page B

pretended to be heartbroken. Only Marcus had seemed unimpressed and she felt that, in his eyes, she had let herself down although she was unable to work out how or why. But she had seen the look on his face and it troubled her.
    Ten minutes later, at five to seven a.m., someone rang the front door bell and roused the entire household. Letitia opened her eyes, looked at the bedside clock, kissed the photograph of her beloved Bernard, turned over and went back to sleep.
    Marie awoke, wondered who it was but knew that it was not for her. She decided to stay awake and revel in the happy memories of the previous evening. Marcus had carried her in his arms to dance and had made her feel very important and said she looked glamorous. Bernard had also carried her round but had looked very self-conscious so that when he asked her a second time she had claimed to be too tired and had pretended not to see the relief in his eyes. Steven hadn’t danced with her but she didn’t care because she had never forgiven him for treading all over the sandcastle she had made when she was five years old.
    The bell also awoke Marcus and he went downstairs but Steven was already at the front door.
    ‘It’s for me,’ said Steven.
    ‘How can you tell? You haven’t opened the door yet.’
    ‘I’m expecting someone. Go back to bed, you look awful.’
    ‘You don’t look too good yourself!’ Marcus replied but he turned back and was halfway up the stairs before Steven opened the door.
    As Steven had suspected, Andrew Markham stood outside. Part-owner of Andy’s Supper Room, he was a man in his early forties, thickset with cold, grey eyes and a permanently aggressive expression.
    Steven’s heart quailed but he tried not to show his anxiety. ‘What are you doing here? I told you never to come to my home.’
    ‘And I told you I do what I like and if you don’t want a home visit from me or my brother, you should pay your debts on time – and you haven’t. You owe twenty-three pounds and eleven shillings and I’m here to collect!’ He paused, took a deep breath and went on. ‘And don’t give me any sob story about your dying sister because I don’t give a damn about her. She’s your problem and you’re mine!’ His grey eyes were cold as stone.
    Steven said, ‘Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll—’
    ‘I want it now!’
    ‘I can’t give you what I haven’t got!’ He had lowered his voice and now glanced anxiously behind him in case his brother was lingering out of sight. ‘I’ve had unexpected expenses. My sister has only weeks to—’
    ‘My heart bleeds for you!’
    ‘Christ! You’re a hard-hearted brute!’
    ‘You should have thought of that. You rang up a bill and now you have to pay it.’ He thrust out a meaty hand and instinctively Steven stepped back.
    ‘I’ve told you – I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Twenty—’
    The blow from Markham’s fist caught him under the chin and sent him flying.
    ‘Jesus Christ!’ he muttered groggily as he tried to pick himself up.
    To his horror, Markham had advanced over the step and was in the hall. He loomed over him. ‘Plenty more where that came from!’ His voice was low but full of menace. ‘How would you like me to break your arm? Or flatten your nose. You wouldn’t be such a pretty boy then! Or I could set a couple of my lads on to you.’
    Steven was terrified. He regretted ever setting foot in Markham’s damned supper room and he certainly regretted running up a tab for food and drinks  . . . but from nowhere an idea suddenly came to him. ‘Wait a moment!’ he begged as he scrambled to his feet. ‘I’ve had an idea. You like pretty girls, don’t you, Andrew?’ He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being overheard.
    ‘What if I do?’ He hesitated, his fist at the ready.
    ‘And you take on singers at your place.’ Steven was already feeling nervous about his idea but it was too late to back out now. Time was not on his side. At any