Mercury Man Read Online Free Page A

because my grandpa asked them to. I can’t just walk out on them.”
    â€œGive them two weeks’ notice.”
    â€œNaw. … So are we going to a movie tonight?”
    â€œCan’t. Gotta go over to Fabricon. There’s a presentation. Getting to know the firm. I have to take Bim. Why don’t you come? You could get a job. You’re crazy to wash dishes in that dump when you can be at Fabricon.”
    â€œI told you, I can’t. Hey, I hear my mum. Gotta go now. See you tomorrow, Pete.”
    Tom swung the phone down and made a dash for the kitchen. He’d left the water running in the sink and it was nearly overflowing. He cleaned out the slops, and as the water swooshed away, leaving a pile of half-clean dishes, he heard the door open and his mother call his name.
    â€œHi, Tommy, you here? I’ve got someone with me tonight.”
    Tom stiffened. He turned off the water, ran his hands across a towel, and almost vaulted out of the tiny kitchen.
    There stood his mother, smiling uneasily, and beside her, to his dismay, he saw the stocky, bearded figure of Chuck Reichert, the assistant manager of the A&P store where she worked.
    Reichert, despite his loosened tie and his rolled-up sleeves, looked uncomfortable and seemed to be sweating heavily. He cradled his sports jacket in one arm and glanced around the untidy room.
    â€œHi, guy,” he said, not looking straight at Tom. Reichert, Tom noticed, seemed to have an aversion to doing that, just as he had an aversion to using people’s names. Instead, he favoured impersonal substitutions: it was “Hi, guy!” or “Right, love!” or “Sure, pal!” as the occasion might warrant. A man in his mid-thirties or early forties — about his mother’s age — he had a beer belly and wore flashy ties. Tom hated to come too close to Chuck Reichert because his aftershave smelled like insect repellent.
    â€œWe’re going to have a bite to eat, then Chuck and I are going bowling,” his mother told him. “I brought you a triple-cheese pizza and some Orangina. I guess you’re going to a movie, are you?”
    â€œGood way to beat the heat,” Chuck called out. He had tossed his jacket on an armchair and was already in the kitchen, rattling around in the fridge in search of a beer.
    â€œMaybe. I was at Grandpa’s all afternoon and I ate a ton,” Tom lied. “If you don’t need me I’ll go and play some pool with Pete. He just called me.”
    Tom had learned that white lies sounded better if you spiced them with a bit of truth. He would have loved the pizza but there was no way he was going to hang around the apartment with Chuck Reichert there. He could walk around for a while, and when they took off for bowling he’d come back and eat in peace.
    â€œYou’re going to put a shirt on, I hope,” his mother said. She looked at him intently, as if she was trying to read his mind — it was a look he knew, and it always made him feel uncomfortable.
    â€œSure.”
    He retreated into his room, grabbed a T-shirt from a peg, and slipped it on.
    â€œHow’s Grandpa?” his mother called out. Then: “Oh, you didn’t even finish the dishes!” She was already in the kitchen, tearing open parcels and shifting pots and pans. He mumbled an excuse and moved back into the living room, where Reichert had settled down with a beer. He was watching the television news and scooping handfuls of chips from a bowl.
    â€œMets losing again,” he announced. “Why don’t they get their act together?”
    â€œSee you later, Mom,” Tom said. “Sorry about the cleanup.” He could see her in the kitchen, busily making their dinner while Reichert flipped channels and munched.
    She turned quickly and came to him. His mother was tall and slender, and she was pretty for her age, he knew. Her dark hair was stylishly cut and, as Grandpa Sandalls