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

nerves’ for years. ‘What’s your name?’ he demanded rudely.
    ‘Quinn. Kathleen Quinn.’ She pushed the sandwiches in front of him. ‘I made these for you.’
    He took a bite of sandwich. It was ham. ‘Got any mustard?’
    She fetched a jar and put it in front of him. ‘It’s polite to say “please”?’
    ‘Mebbe I will when I grow up.’ The barb had hurt far more than the fine.
    ‘Wasn’t it rather childish to throw stones at a police station and assault the officer who tried to restrain you?’ she said coldly.
    Steve held up his hands in an attitude of surrender. ‘As I said in court, it were ten years to the day that the pit closed. We were merely commemorating the fact. I suppose we could’ve laid flowers, wreaths, said prayers, sung a few hymns, but we weren’t exactly in the mood. Throwing stones seemed more fitting, as it were, though if we’d had a few sticks of dynamite, we’d have blown the bloody place up. Coppers weren’t exactly the miners’ best friends during the strike.’
    Her lips pursed. ‘That was fourteen years ago.’
    ‘Fifteen, actually, but it seems like only yesterday to me and me mates.’
    ‘It’s time you stopped living in the past and moved forward,’ she said primly in the voice she’d used in court.
    ‘Except I’ve nothing much to look forward to.’ Steve lost his temper. ‘Can’t you ever forget you’re a magistrate? Is that all you ever do, give advice to people when you know nothing whatever about them? Mebbe you’d like a bit of advice yourself – unless anyone asks, in future, keep your opinions to yourself.’ He smeared mustard on a sandwich, shoved in his mouth, and nearly choked. He’d used far too much.
    To his intense horror, two tears ran down KathleenQuinn’s thin cheeks. ‘I wish I’d just driven away and left you in that ditch,’ she said. ‘It’s been a horrible day and you’re the last straw. Once you’ve finished that sandwich, I’d be obliged if you would leave.’
    ‘You couldn’t have driven away,’ he reminded her, rather more gently now. He was a sucker for tears. ‘Your back wheel was in the ditch, you were stuck. I’ll leave, don’t worry. You’d better fetch me shoes first.’ The black lace-ups would look daft with a tracksuit, but he wasn’t planning on prancing up and down the catwalk, not today.
    ‘They’ll still be wet. You can’t possibly leave in wet shoes.’ She rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand and gave him a tremulous smile. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I had some upsetting news this morning. You were awfully kind, stopping and helping me like that. Finish the food and there’s more tea in the pot.’
    She went upstairs for the shoes. Steve spread another sandwich with mustard, more sparsely this time. He felt very odd, almost drunk, as he sat there, waiting – no longing – for Kathleen Quinn to come back.
    The telly was on when he got home. Jean was watching
Countdown
. ‘Oh, Steve,’ she cried tearfully, though didn’t get up. ‘I thought you’d had an accident.’ She noticed his outfit. ‘Where on earth did them clothes come from, luv?’
    ‘I
did
have an accident. I skidded a bit, then got stuck in a ditch, and only fell into the bloody thing when I tried to get out the car.’ He’d decided not to mention Kathleen Quinn or he’d be cross-examined about it for weeks. ‘Some chap in a lorry hauled me out. He loaned me his tracksuit and some other stuff.’
    ‘But where’s your own clothes?’ she wailed. As usual,she was turning the situation into a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
    ‘The chap said he’d leave them in the dry cleaner’s for me.’
    ‘Which dry cleaner’s, Steve?’
    ‘For Chrissakes, Jean! I can’t remember. Anyroad, does it really matter right now? I’m bloody freezing, and I’d like a cup of tea, not the third degree.’ He was pleased to note the girls weren’t there. They must have gone home to get the kids their teas. The thought