Darkhouse. Alex Barclay

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘There is nothing wrong with my insides.’ He opened a letter from a cut-price phone company, glanced at it and tossed it aside. Anna kept talking.

      ‘Your breath stinks. I know what that means.’ She pointed to his abdomen.

      He laughed out loud. ‘It’s too easy to be blunt in a foreign language. How would you like it if I said something nasty to you in French?’

      She shrugged. ‘All you know is bonjour. And I’m not nasty. I have to look after you, because you are no good.’ He loved her quirky phrasing. ‘You’ve been on an aeroplane and you’ve been wound up by your father. I know your jaw hurts and you’ve been taking things.’

      He started eating the ravioli and then laughed to himself.

      ‘You know, pretty much everything sounds sexy in that accent,’ he said.

      ‘You’re nuts,’ she said.

      ‘What about them?’

      ‘Now you sound like Danny.’

      Joe was smiling as he picked up a letter from the bank. He tore it open and frowned.

      ‘Why has four hundred euros gone out of my account? To a furniture store in Dublin.’

      ‘Oh. I went a bit over budget on the bathroom.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I overspent on the fittings.’

      ‘That’s not what I meant. I meant what the hell are you thinking? Again! I presume the magazine isn’t going to pay me for this, either.’

      ‘No, but you know this is important to me.’

      ‘Yeah, I do, but I’m not gonna go bankrupt for it. You know what I’m up to now? Two thousand euros on a house I don’t even own. “I ran out of money for the bedroom, the living room …”’

      ‘It’s worth it. I’ve never had a project like this, something I’ve done from start to finish. This will change my career.’

      ‘And what if it doesn’t?’

      ‘What do you mean, what if it doesn’t? All along it’s been your job, your job …’

      ‘Yeah. The one that’s kept you and Shaun financially secure for the last eighteen years. What would have happened if I had given up a few years ago to try something new?’

      ‘I would have supported you.’

      ‘With what, for Christ’s sake? You do not live in the real world. Regular people have budgets. The magazine has a budget. I have a goddamn budget. But that’s no good, right? That’s too normal for you, right?’

      ‘That’s not true.’

      ‘What you’re doing is selfish.’

      ‘In the end, it will work out. I’ll be making a lot of money. I’ll buy you some nice things.’ She tried a smile. Joe ignored it.

      ‘I have everything I want right here, Anna. I’m not always looking for something better.’ He finished his meal in silence.

      John Miller leaned heavily on the bar, his hand clamped on a pint of Guinness, a glass of straight whiskey beside it. Ed Danaher was nodding patiently at him. Usually, he was cranky and brusque. Yet people opened up to him because, if they were lucky, he could bark out a useful truth. He rubbed the ends of his black moustache, then pushed up the sleeves of his white shirt.

      ‘Is that so, John?’ he was saying. ‘That’s a dreadful thing altogether. What did you do?’

      ‘I got drunk.’ John smiled. ‘And I haven’t looked back since.’

      Ed laughed with him.

      ‘Seriously,’ said John. ‘I stayed with a friend. But he was a bigger loser than me. The two of us just drank ourselves into oblivion, morning, noon and night. That was when my brother, you know, Emmett, came to get me. Sally had a restraining order against me, I couldn’t see the kids.’ Tears welled up in his eyes, sorrow quickly shifting to anger. ‘I still can’t see my own fucking kids.’

      Ed had learned to say nothing when the barflies were on their rollercoaster.

      ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said John. ‘I may be bitter, but I haven’t quite twisted yet.’ He swayed on his chair, looking around the bar, his elbows against the back of the chair, his movements loose.

      Joe arrived in and walked up to the bar.

      ‘Hey, Joe,’ said Ed. ‘How’re things, how’s the woman herself?’

      ‘Things are good. Anna’s run into a few problems with the lighthouse, but you know her—’

      ‘Now, here’s a man,’ said John, gesturing wildly, ‘who has it all.’

      Joe stared at him. John thrust an arm his way.

      ‘John Miller,’ he said.

      ‘Joe Lucchesi.’

      ‘I know who you are, all right,’ said John, ‘Anna’s husband. Shaun’s father …’

      ‘You in local intelligence?’ said Joe, smiling briefly.

      ‘Once you’re a local, you’re in,’ said John.

      ‘Really?’ said Joe tightly, trying to get Ed’s attention again.

      ‘I’m only messin’ with you,’ said John.

      ‘Sure,’ said Joe.

      ‘Don’t be gettin’ funny on me now,’ said John, pushing lightly against Joe’s chest.

      ‘Let me get you a drink,’ said Joe. ‘Ed, a Guinness for me and a Jameson for Mr Miller here.’

      ‘Keep your fucking money,’ slurred John. ‘Keep your fucking wife and your son and your lighthouse and your perfect—’

      ‘Whoa, buddy …’ said Joe.

      ‘Do you hear this shit?’ said John.

      Ed put Joe’s pint on the bar and turned to John.

      ‘That’s enough now. Maybe you should take a walk out to the jacks, get a bit of air in your lungs.’

      John snorted, but got up and left.

      ‘Don’t mind him,’ said Ed. ‘His wife left him, he can’t see his kids. They’re at the other side of the world, he’s pretty cut up about it.’

      ‘No shit,’ said Joe. ‘But I wasn’t the one who changed the locks.’ He smiled and headed for the snug. He watched John Miller lose his footing on the stool when he came back from the mensroom. His eyes were buggy and shot off in opposite directions like a fly. Joe was smiling to himself when Ray and Hugh walked in to join him.

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