The Carrier by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online Page A

difference?’
    ‘Yes, there is. There’s a fucking big difference.’ She passes her phone from one hand to the other and back again.
    ‘Can you stop swearing? Give me that fag packet from your bag – I’ll write down twenty new describing words for you to learn.’
    ‘I’ll do what I fucking well want, Little Miss Stuck Up Bossy Bitch.’ She shakes her head. ‘Sending him to prison’d be . . . it would be . . . not the same as . . .’
    ‘Here’s what you’re trying to say,’ I chip in helpfully. ‘Actively doing harm to someone is more morally culpable than failing to step in and prevent harm done by others. Right? The difference between positive and negative responsibility; sins of commission versus sins of omission. Yes?’
    ‘Are you always like this?’ she sneers at me. ‘I feel sorry for whichever poor sod’s married to you.’
    The coach slows down. Its engine makes a noise that’s halfway between a rumble and a belch. If the driver were sitting closer to us and spoke English, I might wonder if he was waiting to hear my response to Lauren’s insult.
    ‘I’m not married,’ I tell her. ‘And what you feel is embarrassed because you didn’t understand what I said, even though it’s so simple, an egg sandwich could understand it. And before you ask me again: yes, I do think I’m better than you. I wouldn’t take it too personally, though. Secretly, I think I’m better than a lot of people. You might too if you were me. Eight years ago I founded a company that invented a part for a surgical robot: a tactile feedback glove, it’s called.’
    The coach picks up speed. Thank Christ. Now I can admit to myself that I was worried by the belching noise; it sounded ominously breakdown-esque. Mercifully, the engine now sounds as if it’s in tip-top nick and we are racing into the night once again. Soon we’ll arrive at a hotel and I’ll be able to crawl into a minibar and a nice clean bed.
    I carry on telling Lauren about myself and my achievements, lowering my voice so that no one else hears. ‘My company was bought by a bigger one for a staggering amount of money. Close to fifty million dollars. I didn’t get that money personally – well, I got a decent chunk, but my investors got most of it – but it did leave me wondering why so many people don’t ever really try and achieve anything big, creatively. Anything world-changing. I’m not talking about you – I wouldn’t expect you to be scientifically innovative, because you’re obviously not clever enough, but other people I know, people I was at university with. Potentially brilliant people. Why don’t they try to do more?’
    Lauren is gawping at me, her mouth open. ‘Fifty
million
dollars?’ she says.
    I ignore her. I was enjoying my uninhibited monologue, and I hadn’t finished. ‘I think I’m better than those people because they seem to want to go through life expending minimum effort, and I think I’m better than you not because you’re thick, which isn’t your fault, but because you were mean to Bodo Neudorf. And to the bald man.’
    ‘Bodo what? Who?’ Lauren looks around as if expecting to see somebody she hasn’t previously noticed. ‘What bald man? What are you on about?’
    ‘Cast your mind back and work it out, or remain ignorant,’ I say, happy to demonstrate that what goes around comes around.
Tell me about Mr Innocent-of-Murder and I’ll remind you of the man you savaged earlier this evening, the one who had his name clearly printed on his lapel badge.
    ‘I don’t think tonight’s a one-off for you, is it?’ I say. ‘I know our current situation is far from ideal, but I bet you’re mean and sweary even during the good times.’
    No reaction at all.
    ‘The reason I don’t mind saying all this to you is that you’re so stupid,’ I go on. ‘It’s like talking to a piece of cardboard. No ramifications whatsoever. You’re not going to ramificate; you don’t know what it means. You don’t