Hitler's Girls Read Online Free Page A

for a wedding as a result of poor Monica turning up on my doorstep at eight on a Saturday night with her housecoat unbuttoned. Flimsy nightie underneath, you know the kind of thing.
    “‘Come on in, Monica,’ I said. We’d had a bit of a falling-out a few weeks previously—and then I’d been away, to see my brother in the Lake District—that’s how come I missed Kilburn’s latest murder this year on Saturday night. Condemned to live in flashback forever, that’s Jim Graham—sorry, poor taste, Dr. Hastie.
    “Monica was crying. I took her in, mopped her up, gave her a G and T, that type of thing. It did occur to me the wretched woman might have been crying over that granddaughter of hers. She got me to go down to the school a couple of years back,but for me it was too much like playing Mamas and Papas. It’s a lousy school—what can you say? Kim and Dev—those are Mel’s chums, tough gansta girls if you get my meaning. Monica wouldn’t let them in the house and Mel took it out on her gran by running off and going to live in a squat in Harlesden with them .
    “No, Jean, you won’t find them in the same place now. The kids move on all the time, only way they can survive. You’d think the going was rough unless you’d been in a Bangkok brothel and seen the lives of the young girls kidnapped in rural areas.
    “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those do-gooders. Just a spot hard-bitten—I’ve seen enough cruelty to sink SS Globe and life in Kilburn is a giggle in comparison with most places. Didn’t stop Mel and pals from bearing a terrific grudge, naturally.
    “‘I’m being followed, Jim.’ Monica has insisted on taking off that housecoat of hers (it’s a wet night) and I go double quick to close the shutters. Not before I catch sight of Mrs. Walker staring straight in from next door. ‘Hey, Monica, thinking someone’s following you is the first sign of madness,’ I say, trying to laugh it off. I fetch a poncho from the hall—one of those llama numbers from the Andes—my, was that a journey to the evil heart of man: human sacrifice, the whole deal! I gave Monica a resounding slap on the sit-upon as I wrapped it round her—often quietens a woman down. Like a horse.
    “No, Dr. Hastie, please don’t leave yet. I’m now convinced Monica was being followed. She was in terrible danger. I’m not the kind of guy who misses out on that death-smell—pardon me—and I picked it up that night off Monica. Yes, after she began to tell me. First—you know how it is, I just tried to make the wench feel better—about herself, her house, her sad life, the whole package.
    “‘You look glam, dear,’ I told Monica. And wrapped in that llama number I must say she didn’t look bad. ‘No wonder they’re following you, eh?’
    “Like, she went through the roof, Jean. If anyone can be described as murderous—well, it was Monica then. Makes me think poor little Mel might’ve inherited it. Violent streak—hate—deeply buried in Monica’s case if you know what I mean, but I’m no psychologist.
    “Yes yes, I’m getting there. You won’t believe this, Dr. Hastie. Any more than I did.
    “‘You see,’ Monica said when I’d apologised—and topped her up, Monica never minded a drink. ‘The people who I thought were my parents—’
    “‘Yes, dear,’ I said. I really thought she was gone, then. How many times in the past few months had Monica told me she was adopted? Come to think of it—lots of times but only in the past few months. When I realised that—after she told me—itall began to make sense. ‘They adopted me from—from that woman who was a member of the Wilsford family,’ Monica said and she burst into tears. ‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ I said. I went over to the settee and put my arm round her. Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Hastie. But as luck would have it, there was just then a knock at the door—Mrs. Walker was calling out that I’d left the garage light on. I often