An Autumn Crush Read Online Free Page B

raise much volume. How the
heck someone hadn’t died of salmonella in this place was anyone’s guess. Varto was the oldest member of Kenny’s cheap labour crew and more useless than the rest of them put
together. Not half an hour ago, he had signed for and accepted a consignment of lamb which had arrived at the back door from a man with a balaclava on. It stank. Guy had gone as ballistic as his
heavily depleted energy levels would allow and thrown the rancid meat in the wheelie bin. He had then poured the cheap washing-up liquid that Kenny bought in all over it so that Kenny
wouldn’t make Varto take it out again after Guy had left. And still he worried that Varto would do exactly that and wash it off and put it on the menu tomorrow.
    Kenny Moulding had made a lot of money from cheap-meat burger and hot-dog stalls over the years. Certainly enough for him to have a holiday home in Dorset and a small boat, but not enough to
spend on decent kitchen equipment or replacing the hideously tatty restaurant furniture. ‘Make do and mend’ was Kenny’s philosophy, although if he had used that with his missus,
he’d have been divorced before he even got to the end of the sentence. Burgerov was in a fabulous location, at the lip of the countryside in the quiet hamlet of Lower Hoodley, but it was near
enough to town so that a taxi didn’t cost a fortune. Its menu was surprisingly popular, but only because Guy worked long hours and far above the call of duty to make as much of a silk purse
as he could out of the sow’s ear of a place. Guy could do wonders with a rubbish cut of meat – he often fantasized about what he could do given quality cooking facilities, prime
ingredients and some half-competent staff.
    Once upon a time there had been a semblance of quality workers in Burgerov, but Kenny’s increasing meanness had driven them all away and Kenny, who had less and less interest in the place
as time passed, wasn’t bothered about replacing quality with the same. He was setting on workers who couldn’t tell one end of a spatula from another and considered it a breach of their
human rights if they didn’t have a fag break every ten minutes. Plus Glenys the cleaner was off with cystitis so they were all having to take over her duties too as Kenny hadn’t
arranged any cover.
    Guy called goodnight and left his crew to finish off cleaning and clearing up, knowing that as soon as he was out of the door, they would down tools and light up cigarettes. All except dutiful
Gina. But, for once, Guy switched off worrying about the place as soon as he got into his car. His brain was addled.
    It was ridiculously chilly for an August night; maybe the meat-man had a balaclava on for warmth and not for disguise. Guy hated this time of year, when summer segued into brown, dark autumn
– the season when things died and memories of sad times flooded back to him. In fact, he preferred to work stupid hours in these months. Filling his days with hard labour didn’t allow
him space to dredge up the past. Instead, unwelcome thoughts skittered across his brain like rusty leaves caught in the breeze, but did not settle. He wished he could have emptied his head of
everything.
    So exhausted was Guy that he failed to notice the For Sale sign that had been erected outside the gate of the old cottage on the road out to Maltstone, although, to be fair, the wind had
blown it half into one of the overgrown conifers. Had he seen that, maybe it would have given him something far nicer to focus upon, because Guy Miller had been waiting for Hallow’s Cottage
to come onto the market ever since he was a little boy. And when he decided to make a detour and call in for a coffee with his sister, he had also forgotten that she had a new flat-mate and let
himself in with his own key as usual.
    Floz had just come out of the bath when she saw the door of the flat swing open. She expected to see Juliet home from the work schmooze she was going to.