Walkers Read Online Free Page B

between going back to her
vacuum-cleaning and broaching the subject of Gil Miller.
    She went over to the icebox and
poured herself a large glass of Mountain Spring water, topping it up with ice
cubes. She drank almost the whole glass without once taking a breath.
    ‘That boy,’ said her grandmother,
‘you won’t be seeing him again, will you?’
    ‘Is there any reason why I
shouldn’t?’
    ‘Well, what will Carl say?’
    ‘Grandma, it’s none of Carl’s
goddamned business.’
    ‘Suzie,’ put in her grandfather,
taking off his half-glasses. ‘In this house, we don’t use words like that.’
    ‘Well, it’s none of Carl’s
blank-censored business, then. Grandma, we’re not even dating.’
    ‘ You should. He’ s a very
well-mannered person.’
    ‘I know, but I happen not to like
him. And anyway, he’s not Irish, he’s Armenian.’
    ‘ His mother is half Irish.’
    Susan closed her eyes and leaned
against the icebox and her grandmother knew that there wasn’t any point in nagging
any more. Her grandfather shrugged and smiled. ‘She’ll find somebody nice,
don’t worry about it. The whole planet is wall to wall with eligible men.’
    ‘It’s these boys from the beach,
that’s all,’ Susan’s grandmother complained. ‘These surfers. One day, some
surfer is going to make her pregnant, and then what? It’s a responsibility,
bringing up your own daughter’s child. Sometimes I think it’s too much.’
    Susan opened her eyes. ‘Grandma,’
she said, ‘I am not going to get pregnant by any surfer.’
    Her grandmother shook her head, and
went off to finish her vacuum-cleaning. Every morning, she vacuum-cleaned for
at least two hours, and watched the television at the same time. Those were her
two principal obsessions in life: cleaning the house and watching TV. She
thought it was mandatory that her house should sparkle like the houses in the
Lemon-Kleen commercials, and that she should live her life according to the
gospel of Richard Simmons. She had once appeared on The Price Is Right and won
three hundred dollars and a lawn-sprinkler. That was six years ago, and she
still talked about it.
    Susan’s grandfather held out his
hand, and hooked his arm around Susan’s waist.
    ‘You’ll find somebody, you wait and
see. You’re young yet, you haven’t even finished your education.’
    ‘Grandpa, I’m not actually panicking
to get married,’ Susan told him. Unannounced, unwanted, a vision of the dead
girl on the beach suddenly flashed in front of her eyes. White breasts, coated
in grit. Squirming eels. She pulled herself away from her grandfather, went to
the sink to rinse out her glass, and stood there for a moment to steady
herself.
    ‘You all right?’ her grandfather
asked her.
    ‘Sure, I’m all right.’
    ‘You look like you’re upset. Your
mother used to look like that, when she was upset.
    Kind of chalky, know what I mean?
Wasn’t anything to do with that boy, was it?’
    ‘It’s not morning-sickness, if
that’s what you’re trying to suggest.’
    ‘Well, I wasn’t,’ said her
grandfather, offended.
    He glanced towards the hallway door,
where Susan’s grandmother was vacuum-cleaning in surge after surge of roaring
decibels, and then he stood up and came over to the sink, and laid his hand on
Susan’s shoulder. He was short and tubby, like Susan’s grandmother; but unlike
her grandmother he was quite content to look his age, which was sixty-six. His
bald head was varnished like a candy-apple from hours of sitting out in his
rocking-chair and watching the bouncy golden schoolgirls go by.
    ‘Your grandma means well,’ he told
her, in a low voice.
    Susan nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’
    ‘She’s only trying to protect you
from making a mistake.’
    ‘Yes, I know.’
    Her grandfather didn’t know what
else to say. He fiddled with the cuff of his droopy grey cardigan. Then he
shrugged, and went and sat down, and picked up his paper again, although he
kept his eyes on Susan. The