Arcadia Read Free Page A

him, or he had adopted her. Or perhaps the cat had been the matchmaker. She came, and often enough they had long chats. He liked her company, found her views and opinions stimulating, for he had no experience of young girls, especially not those of the most recent vintage. The young were very different these days. Flatteringly, Rosie seemed to like him as well and their conversations would start off on some perfectly ordinary subject, then meander into music, or books, or politics. Much more interesting an individual than most of his students or colleagues. She was insatiably curious about everything.

2
    Rosie Wilson breathed in the air with appreciation; she was old enough at fifteen (and a bit, she thought fondly) to recognise the first faint tang of winter. Not that she needed such evidence to know it was coming. She was long back at school, after all, and that was a more reliable indicator of the time of year than anything else.
    It was Saturday, and she was free until Monday. Of course there were tasks to fill up the time she could have spent enjoying herself. Walking the next-door neighbour’s dog. Doing the shopping. Peeling the vegetables and washing up after meals. Her brother never did any chores. He was at work today and on Sunday would go off with his friends to play football. That was normal. That was what boys did, and she was doing what girls did.
    ‘I want to play with my friends too,’ she had protested once. It was the wrong thing to say.
    ‘You don’t have any,’ her brother had snapped back. He was two years older and already had a girlfriend and was earning good money in an ironmonger’s shop. ‘Brainy girls don’t have friends.’
    She suspected that her brother’s statement was true; that was why it had hurt, and that was why he had said it. It was her own fault for passing her exams and going to a school where they taught her things. Her parents had almost refused, but she had got her way.
    So she shopped, although she took her time, walking along the canal at the end of the road and strolling over the common with the dog first. It was a good dog, obedient and amiable. She tied itup outside the shops and it would wait patiently for her.
    Except that now it had disappeared. She shouted, looked around, and then heard it barking, down by the river bank. ‘Come here! Bad dog!’ she called out, not too seriously, as she walked over to find out what it was up to.
    ‘Come away! Stop that!’ she scolded when she saw the beast, tail wagging enthusiastically as it snuffled at a bundle of old clothes. Then she looked closer. The clothes were inhabited. It was a man, lying on the ground.
    Rosie cautiously walked closer; she had read in the papers of murdered bodies being discovered by people out for a walk. As she approached, though, the pile of clothes moved and let out a groan. The face of a man, pale and sick-looking, was staring up at her. He blinked and rubbed his red, bloodshot eyes. That’s a relief, she thought. ‘Are you all right?’ she said loudly, not daring to get too near and making up for her timidity with volume.
    He rolled over and squinted as he focused on the figure of the girl in her bright red coat, clutching a large bag with one hand and the animal’s neck with the other. ‘Back!’ she said to the animal. ‘Bad dog! Naughty!’
    ‘Food,’ he croaked. His mouth moved as he tried to say more but no other words would come.
    ‘Food?’ she repeated. ‘Is that a good idea? You seem ill. Should I call an ambulance? A doctor?’
    ‘Just food. Give.’
    She hesitated, uncertain about what to do. Then she opened up her bag and looked in it.
    ‘Here,’ she said. ‘You can have a little cake. One won’t be missed, I’m sure. It’s not very nutritious, I’m afraid. Just sponge, really.’
    She held it out, but he didn’t move to take it, so she cautiously put it on the ground beside him, pulling the large animal away as she did so. ‘Don’t you dare!’
    ‘It’s a