The Old House on the Corner by Maureen Lee Read Free Book Online

her up, and I’ll give her a push.’
    ‘Thank you very much.’
    He went round to the back of the car, put one foot in the ditch, and pressed his shoulder against the gleaming metal. The car started with a jump, his heels skidded on the ice, and he fell back into the ditch, uttering a roar when the ice at the bottom broke and water, freezing cold, seeped through his clothes and down his neck. The top half of him was soaked. He heard the car door open and close and the woman appeared.
    ‘What happened? One minute I could see you through the rear window, next minute you’d disappeared.’
    ‘You bloody idiot!’ he yelled. ‘You took your foot off the clutch.’
    ‘Did I? I’m so sorry,’ she said abjectly. ‘I wasn’t thinking. Are you all right?’
    ‘Course, I’m not all right. I’m about to freeze to death down here. Don’t just stand there gawping, woman, give us a hand out.’
    She extended her hand. Steve contemplated pulling her into the ditch with him, see how
she
liked it, but itseemed unnecessarily cruel. She helped him out and he stood there, shivering, his body chilled to the bone.
    The woman regarded him with concern. ‘You’d better get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘Look, my car is still stuck. If you’re up to driving yours, I live less than a mile away. You can get warm and I’ll give you some of my husband’s clothes. I can ring the garage from there.’
    ‘Sod the bloody garage. Just get me into some dry clothes,’ he snarled.
    Neither spoke during the short journey to her house, until she said, ‘Turn right here,’ and Steve drove down a long path lined with trees, stopping in front of a large, bleak Victorian house. The woman leaped out and unlocked the door. Steve could hardly move in his frozen clothes. He managed to extricate himself from the car, which he’d always found too small, and stagger towards the open door.
    The woman was running upstairs. ‘Come on up,’ she called. ‘I’m going to run you a hot bath. That’ll soon warm you up. I’ll leave some clothes outside. Just throw your things on the floor and I’ll have them cleaned. I’ll get coffee on the go. It’ll be ready by the time you’ve finished.’
    ‘Ta,’ Steve muttered ungraciously.
    Five minutes later, soaking in a warm bath in a warm bathroom, encased in bubbles that the woman had been kind enough to add, he didn’t feel so bad about things. At least it saved going home, being the object of derision by all and sundry. He wouldn’t ring Jean. It wouldn’t hurt to let her worry for a bit.
    Another five minutes had passed when there was a knock on the door. ‘Are you all right in there?’
    ‘Fine, ta. I’ll be down in a minute.’
    The bubbles were getting cold. He pulled out the plug, wrapped himself in a snowy white bath towel, and gingerly opened the door. Clothes were folded in a heap outside: a maroon fleece tracksuit, two T-shirts, dinky underpants, socks and a pair of velvet mules. He put everything on, they just about fitted, apart from the mules that were much too small, and went downstairs.
    Music was coming from a room at the end of a long, gloomy corridor that he deduced must be the kitchen. He peered through a half-open door as he went towards it, the mules flapping uncomfortably with each step. A living room, the furnishings and decoration fitting the period in which the house had been built: satiny wallpaper, velvet tasselled curtains, a richly patterned carpet, over-large furniture, everything too dark for his taste. It gave the impression of being little used.
    ‘I thought I heard a noise.’ The door to the kitchen opened, taking him by surprise. The woman had removed her bulky outer clothes to reveal an elegant black suit over a white polo-necked jumper. He’d thought he’d never recognize her again, but he did, even though she no longer wore glasses.
    ‘You!’ he gasped. Bert Skinner had said she was a corker and