The Writer Read Online Free Page B

who
have not the slightest inclination of any party being staged in our
midst.”
    “What my brother means,”
Jerry explained to Sophie, “is it’ll seem like the whole town is
there. Not that the whole town will be there. Just seem it
is.”
    “And Kerry is wrong about
why our boarder’s going,” added Rebecca.
    “We’re not wrong,” Jerry
said in defence of his brother.
    “It’s because you will be
there, Sophie,” Rebecca said like she was defying a secret truce by
announcing it. “Mother has talked to him about you non-stop, before
you got here. Told him all about you.”
    Sophie looked at her
grandmother horrified that she could do such a thing.
    “I might have mentioned you
once or twice,” Susan said like it wasn’t anything important.
“Nothing to be concerned over, dear. You know how a grandmother
likes to talk up her children. I only told him about your writing.
And he was very interested, actually, so it may not be such a big
waste of time after all.”
    “No dumb hobby?” Kerry asked
with a glance at his brother.
    “No unreachable dream?”
added Jerry, gaining an approving glance from Kerry.
    “Boys, don’t be rude like
that to your niece,” Susan chided. “We’re polite here to one
another during the family meal. Always remember that.”
    Sophie tried to hide that
she was perturbed at openly being called their niece. “I thought we
weren’t going to say that word,” she said.
    “Our niece!” reacted Kerry,
gaining a glare from Susan.
    “You can’t deny that,
Sophie,” Rebecca said with a grin.
    “I don’t wish to discuss
it,” she replied.
    “Enough of this subject,”
Susan announced. “Kerry, tell us about your new school project,
please.”
    Sophie felt her checks burn
as she realised that she had overreacted to what was nothing more
than playfulness. Like the three children, she did not have a
father, but unlike them, she had never known who he was. To make it
worse, Susan seemed to have decided that she would never
know.
     
     
    There was one part of town
where the street became so narrow that it should have been one lane
but it wasn’t. Any experienced driver knew to be careful and
courteous, and not go too fast, as any normal driver would have.
But the speeding car went down there as fast as the driver could
get it. He had been doing laps for a good hour, faster and faster,
seeing no one except a car with two old people. They were given a
good scare and he had a good laugh. The driver still laughed at
that memory and went to have another shot of whiskey. He was nearly
finished with the bottle and he needed to kick his head right back
to get a good mouthful. Then he dropped the bottle onto his lap. In
reaching for it too fast he bumped it further down, to his feet.
Cursing, he fumbled a hand around under his legs, now and then
touching it with his fingers but losing it again, like it was
playing a game with him. With each turn of the wheel the bottle
slid more, first under his seat and then up against the pedals.
When he finally managed to grab it, he was leaning so much that he
couldn’t see the road. There was a massive crunching noise that
made the car shudder so violently that he left his seat and bumped
his head on the roof.
    He continued driving for a
few seconds, partly through letting his booze-soaked brain have
time to comprehend what just happened, and partly in denial that
anything had happened at all. His main focus was that he now had
his bottle back in his hands and nothing else really mattered that
much. It was more curiosity that made him he stop and spend some
time trying to find reverse. When he found it he went too fast
backwards. The car went over something so hard that he again
bounced up out of his seat. He stopped the car and sat there for a
full five minutes, laughing at the humour of it all. When he did
stop with laughing he found the silence funny and so he took a
while laughing at that too. Then he thought that maybe he should
get out to