One Damn Thing After Another Read Online Free Page B

anything ever came of it.
    Down at the bottom there were more Germans. Letterhead, flaring, gigantic, of the
Graphik
: notorious, not to say thumb in your eye scandal-raking weekly. Signed, this one, with a big splashy felt pen. Woman journalist, anxious forsooth to interview her. Since she had such an interesting-sounding job! And, if possible, also her so-distinguished Herr Doktor Husband – Arthur would be thrilled to find himself in
Graphik
amidst the pornographers and politicians … Would she call the local office to fix this up? Polite in a vulgar soapy way.
    Perish the thought; she was in no particular need of publicity and certainly not that sort. That one, at least, could be torn up.
    Last of all, and saddest, was a van der Valk one, made incoherent by misery. Your phone says you’ll be back by suchaday, but I don’t know whether that’s true. I’ve lost faith in everything and everyone. I’ll try this just in case. If I don’t hear, there’s nothing for it: I’ll kill myself.
    Postmarked a week back. What could one do about it? There was no hard and fast rule: were the ones who talked about it less inclined to do it? ‘I’ll kill myself and then it will be your fault’ – a kind of emotional blackmail the immature are given to. Arlette hated talk of this sort. Suicide is murder, just as each and every murder is also a suicide: that, if you like, was indeed a firm rule. No phone number: an address, in Neudorf. A week ago … she would try to go. But tomorrow: she was still ‘on holiday’ damn it, and everything was crowding in already. An awful lot to do and she didn’t feel like any of it, and especially not cooking.
    Arthur, hearing deep sighs being heaved and much refreshed by his trip on the tear, offered most gallantly to make his super-special shepherd’s pie. Excellent idea, after all that fish too.
    â€œThe really boring shopping I can do this afternoon.”
    â€œGood; I’ll go to that dust-laden office, dump all this paperthere and pretend I’ve never seen it. Then have a stern word with the Secretary-General, maybe then kiss his bum a bit; he likes to be thought important now and then.” Yes, and she’d better try herself to get some wits and courage into her own lead-laden bum, and sort out these idiot bureaucracies. She brought Arthur’s typewriter into the livingroom, was drafting a stern dignified protest to Social Security, when the phone rang. Ruth. Oh, hallo darling … I just wondered whether-you-were-back … Oh, yes, it was lovely … Oh, good, I’ll come to supper can I, and hear all about it … That’ll be lovely: oh, and do you know any Germans? … Yes, lots, why? … oh, a silly letter sounding blackmaily, that’s all … Nobody I know then, okay, see you this evening.
    She had just refabricated concentration upon ‘Dear Sir, I am astonished’ – make that disagreeably astonished – ‘at the inability of your computer to understand childishly simple instructions’–cut childishly – when the front door bell went.
    Before she could peek through the judas, she heard happy yelps and scratchings. The Davidson dog, towing her Spanish cleaning-woman, who had been looking after it.
    â€œHallo! – qué tal?”
    â€œQué tal? – I thought you might –”
    â€œYes, yes, acabamos de llegar. Hallo, darling, stop bounding about then. Sí, sí, cansados, pero contentos. Googoogoo, oh do shut up. Down, I told you.”
    â€œI met Doctor Davidson in the supermarket. All right, I guess; my rheumatism’s being troublesome – oh, aren’t you glad Mother’s back.”
    â€œDo stop calling me mother. Delighted to see you: we’ve an awful lot to do. Get away, you wretched beast.”
    â€œGive him a paw; then he’ll be happy. Oh, I can’t stay today – I just brought old Perro, I