Come Clean (1989) Read Online Free

here.’ She leaned into him on the bench and turned her hand over, to lace her fingers with his. Often in this grubby
den she could be as happy as she ever remembered being, happier than since the very earliest days with Des. Ralph, returning to the bar, gave them his fulsome, marriage-broker smile, the old knife
scar from under his ear and two or three inches along the jaw-bone looking very pale and creamy in the subdued light, like a line of mayonnaise on a plate rim.
    ‘We’ll go soon, now,’ Ian said. ‘Not quite yet. Things have changed. I don’t want it to look as if we’re deserting Ralph after the bother, like those other
two creeps.’
    ‘No.’ That would be one of those important male considerations: the compulsion not just to be loyal but to show the loyalty. In a way it was admirable, and came from real
sensitivity. Sensitivity could stop, though, when the person needing it was not regarded as a friend, no matter how bad a state he might be in. Did anyone expect sensitivity to reach a lavatory
corridor or an unlit yard? Men laughed at women’s inconsistencies, but they weren’t all that hot themselves. Anyway, she did not prize consistency very much. Who wanted to be
consistently wrong?
    ‘One more drink,’ Ian said. He went to the handsome old mahogany bar, with its beautiful brass inlay and lovely, original beer handles, and began chatting and laughing with Ralph as
if everything was as well as it could possibly be. Monty’s had a good history. Once, apparently, it had been a select meeting place for businessmen, but now business had moved out to the
high-tech industrial estates, and this district was entering its second decade of inner city dereliction. Men like Ralph were part of the new scene, maybe men like Ian, too.
    She watched the two of them, clearly comfortable with each other, and felt almost envious of the ease and quickness of their conversation. She felt, too, a worry that came her way continually,
despite all Ian’s assurances: how had he got himself so well in with these sharp-clawed, cagey people? Ralph guffawed at something Ian said and thumped the bar with his fist, in delight.
Nice. Such understanding between them. Perhaps Ralph really would look after him if the worst happened. Her doubts might be only the cynicism picked up as a cop wife. All the same, big laughs cost
nothing. Comradeship came and went, like happiness, unless it was trained into you, grained into you, the way the police did things: canteen culture.
    Watching them, she felt excluded, even resentful, and suddenly realized that the niggling, persistent wish to know the truth was edging its way back again, subduing the brandy and the boredom,
and even the fear. She had to smash that shady, smug alliance between the two men. In any case, she never reacted very well to restrictions. After all, social considerations would say she should
not be in the Monty at all, but she was. Now, though, she felt irked by the club’s own particular inhibitions, couldn’t swallow these, either. ‘Listen, Ralph, sorry about this,
but I’m still bothered. May we borrow your flashlight?’ she asked.
    ‘But for what?’ he said.
    ‘I’d really like to have a look at that yard. The rubble container.’
    ‘The builder’s skip? Why? Nothing out there,’ Ralph said. ‘They’ll be miles away. I heard a car.’
    ‘Not all of them might be miles away.’
    Ian was embarrassed. ‘Once she’s got her teeth into something.’
    ‘This is stupid,’ Ralph said.
    ‘Can I borrow it?’ she asked.
    Ralph looked sullen and tried to sound untroubled. ‘Why ever not?’
    ‘Thanks, Ralph.’ She stood up at once and took the flashlight from him across the bar. Again she led into the lavatory corridor and again Ian came sheepishly behind her. She pushed
the fire doors open and, switching on the beam, stepped out into the yard.
    ‘What are you hoping to find, Sarah?’ Ian put a hand on her wrist and helped direct the light