The Last Girl by Stephan Collishaw Read Free Book Online Page B

the bread crust. The food strengthened me a little, but still I was not fit to go out. I slumped once more into the chair by the window and stared out at the tops of the trees and the sky.
    At eight o’clock there was a short rap on the door. I looked up. Irrationally I immediately supposed it was her. My heart thumped wildly. I sat petrified in my chair. After a few seconds the rapping was repeated. It could not have been her, she did not have my address. I shuffled over to the door.
    â€˜Who is it?’ I shouted. My voice sounded strange to my ears, it had been so many hours since I had last heard it.
    â€˜It’s me,’ a voice replied. Grigalaviciene. I fumbled with the lock thankfully. She looked in at me through the doorway.
    â€˜You’re still alive?’ she said, looking like she had sniffed something foul.
    â€˜As you can see,’ I said, quite jovially, attempting to indicate with a sweep of my hand how vigorous I still was. My hand hit the open door, bruising my knuckle.
    Grigalaviciene pushed into the apartment, propelling me with her hand against the wall. I did not. stop her. She nosed around like a suspicious dog.
    â€˜We were wondering,’ she said caustically. ‘What with all the fuss you were causing the other night.’
    I did not answer. I closed the door and, cradling my knuckles in the palm of my other hand, followed her into the apartment. She picked up my waste bin, which was overflowing.
    â€˜You missed the rubbish van,’ she reprimanded.
    â€˜I wasn’t feeling too well,’ I said.
    â€˜Shouldn’t wonder,’ she satd without a smile.
    Grigalaviciene was probably younger than me. She did not like me to think this though. She was perhaps seventy, but it was hard to place her, she could have been anything from sixty to eighty-five. She had lived in these apartments at least as long as I had. She was not married. Maybe she had been once, but that had been a long time ago. I studied her wrinkled, sour face. Her lips were puckered up, giving her the expression of continual prudish distaste. She was wearing a pink housecoat.
    â€˜When you didn’t appear yesterday we thought you’d really gone and done it,’ she said. She had made her way to the kitchen and put a small pan of water onto the stove. ‘I was just saying to old Adamkiene, it looks like Daumantas really has overdone it this time. Did you hear him? she says to me. How could I not hear him? I said, shouting like that for everybody to hear. I don’t know.’ She shook her head. When the water boiled she spooned two generous heaps of Russian tea into a couple of cups and poured on the water. I stood in the doorway of the small kitchen watching her, a little amused, though her voice was not helping my headache.
    â€˜Here,’ she said, turning with the steaming cup. ‘Drink this. I bet you haven’t any shopping in, have you?’ She pulled open the cupboard doors and tutted over the crumbs and empty shelves.
    â€˜What do I want shopping for?’ I said, taking the cup.
    â€˜You don’t need to eat?’ she spat at me.
    â€˜I buy what I need for the day. What’s the point in getting more?’ I wandered back to the front room and let myself down into my chair.
    â€˜And today you don’t need anything?’ Grigalaviciene said, following me, slurping her hot tea noisily.
    â€˜It’s just after eight, I haven’t had the chance to get out yet.’
    She grunted derisively. I watched as she pottered around the room, tidying it. She picked up items of clothing and hung them neatly over the backs of chairs. She straightened the carpets and took a small dustpan and brush and collected the fragments of glass from the bottle I had broken two nights earlier. All this she did clicking her tongue angrily and muttering to herself. A little irritated I said, ‘If you’re talking to me, you’d better speak up because I