Woodhill Wood Read Online Free Page B
Author: David Harris Wilson
of silence, and it didn't matter how tactless or tasteless it might be. She couldn't understand the concept of a secret; it went against everything that gave her greatest pleasure. The chance to shock was supreme and all other considerations were secondary and could be explained away. It was her drug and she had long been addicted.
Gurde had often sat through her long, embarrassing monologues, watching as her audiences gave the appropriate sympathetic or congratulatory glances as she reeled off the events as they sprang to mind. He wondered if anybody really wanted to hear the explicit details of things her friends or family might have confided in her. Gurde knew better than to tell her anything of importance. The father did too.
The table had fallen silent but it would only be a temporary lull. Gurde wished he had left some food to play with but he didn't dare reach for more.
Ben had enough peas left to build a pair of goal posts at the edge of his plate and was busily playing touch football, using his knife to flick peas gently back and forth, weaving the ball pea past the goalkeeper pea to score in between the pea posts. He was careful to make sure the game remained firmly on his plate, so that the ball could not escape to roll across the table and draw attention to him.
The father went back to shoveling food into his mouth and chewing noisily. He was not satisfied, and the silence was a sure sign that the first skirmish had only been a rehearsal. Gurde waited for the father's next move, knowing he'd had time to think of a trap for her so that he could escape from the table. His prosecutor's mind was perfectly tuned, able to build an argument out of the simplest comment and drive it through until he was in complete control. She would have no chance against him.
He took off his glasses, placed them on the table beside his plate, and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. He looked at Gurde and smiled and then he repeated the same gesture to Ben; both boys knew better than to take sides. Then he sat back in his chair, sighed deeply and pushed his plate away from him.
"What do you want to know about the case, then?" he said in his favourite pained voice. Pawn to Queen four.
"I thought you said you shouldn't talk about your cases? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she mumbled.
"...but you asked me about the Jenkinson case. What did you want to know? I mean, if you're really interested.."
"Not really." She glanced down at her plate.
"So.. were you just trying to trick me into talking about it?"
"No... that wasn't it... I was just wondering... I mean.. I didn't want to know the details... I was just.."
"Don't start messing me about, Pat. What did you want to know?"
"Just... how it's going?"
"How it's going? What kind of question is that? Be more specific."
"I was only trying to..."
"...trying to make me look foolish in front of the children. You always try to do this. You're just not clever enough to pull it off, are you?"
"Trying what?" He had her now and still she couldn't stop her mouth from working. "What did I do?" she said.
"You know damn well. Little games. Asking me questions that there's no answer to. I can't sit for a moment without you trying to kick the legs away from under me in front of the children. I suppose it amuses you. On my birthday, too. Is there no day when I can expect a little respect?"
"I'm sorry," she said, "I was just asking...."
She rose from the table and hurried into the kitchen to fetch her cigarettes but she knew she had to return. He would wait for her, stewing in her absence, making himself angry.
She sat back in her place and fumbled with the matches as she tried to light up. He waited patiently until she had drawn in her first chestful of smoke.
"Well?" he said, knowing he could twist it a little further. The woman in the dock at the end of the table realised she had forgotten an ashtray. She flicked the ash into her open palm as she tried to
Gurde had often sat through her long, embarrassing monologues, watching as her audiences gave the appropriate sympathetic or congratulatory glances as she reeled off the events as they sprang to mind. He wondered if anybody really wanted to hear the explicit details of things her friends or family might have confided in her. Gurde knew better than to tell her anything of importance. The father did too.
The table had fallen silent but it would only be a temporary lull. Gurde wished he had left some food to play with but he didn't dare reach for more.
Ben had enough peas left to build a pair of goal posts at the edge of his plate and was busily playing touch football, using his knife to flick peas gently back and forth, weaving the ball pea past the goalkeeper pea to score in between the pea posts. He was careful to make sure the game remained firmly on his plate, so that the ball could not escape to roll across the table and draw attention to him.
The father went back to shoveling food into his mouth and chewing noisily. He was not satisfied, and the silence was a sure sign that the first skirmish had only been a rehearsal. Gurde waited for the father's next move, knowing he'd had time to think of a trap for her so that he could escape from the table. His prosecutor's mind was perfectly tuned, able to build an argument out of the simplest comment and drive it through until he was in complete control. She would have no chance against him.
He took off his glasses, placed them on the table beside his plate, and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. He looked at Gurde and smiled and then he repeated the same gesture to Ben; both boys knew better than to take sides. Then he sat back in his chair, sighed deeply and pushed his plate away from him.
"What do you want to know about the case, then?" he said in his favourite pained voice. Pawn to Queen four.
"I thought you said you shouldn't talk about your cases? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she mumbled.
"...but you asked me about the Jenkinson case. What did you want to know? I mean, if you're really interested.."
"Not really." She glanced down at her plate.
"So.. were you just trying to trick me into talking about it?"
"No... that wasn't it... I was just wondering... I mean.. I didn't want to know the details... I was just.."
"Don't start messing me about, Pat. What did you want to know?"
"Just... how it's going?"
"How it's going? What kind of question is that? Be more specific."
"I was only trying to..."
"...trying to make me look foolish in front of the children. You always try to do this. You're just not clever enough to pull it off, are you?"
"Trying what?" He had her now and still she couldn't stop her mouth from working. "What did I do?" she said.
"You know damn well. Little games. Asking me questions that there's no answer to. I can't sit for a moment without you trying to kick the legs away from under me in front of the children. I suppose it amuses you. On my birthday, too. Is there no day when I can expect a little respect?"
"I'm sorry," she said, "I was just asking...."
She rose from the table and hurried into the kitchen to fetch her cigarettes but she knew she had to return. He would wait for her, stewing in her absence, making himself angry.
She sat back in her place and fumbled with the matches as she tried to light up. He waited patiently until she had drawn in her first chestful of smoke.
"Well?" he said, knowing he could twist it a little further. The woman in the dock at the end of the table realised she had forgotten an ashtray. She flicked the ash into her open palm as she tried to
Readers choose
Shannon Esposito
Nick S. Thomas
M.J. Harris
Agatha Christie
Charity Parkerson
Shelena Shorts
Viola Grace
Al Sarrantonio
Jacki Delecki
John McQuaid