Ramsay 04 - Killjoy Read Free

shame-faced, expecting an angry lecture from Gus. The old lecture about how he’d given up a good career to come and work with them and he expected some guts and energy in return. But he let them go in silence and they wandered through to the cafeteria where Ellen Paston stood, hunched and unresponsive, behind the counter.
    John Powell, haunted by the old worries, forgot immediately about the easy promise to buy Anna a Coke when the session was over. He left the Centre, ignoring the porter’s greeting, and stopped at the entrance to the car park. He’d always liked cars and it had become a habit to stop there to admire the smart vehicles left by the Centre’s patrons. But the fog and the smashed security lights meant that visibility was poor and he hurried back to the square. The pavement was covered with sodden leaves and his footsteps made no sound. Through the mist he saw his mother’s car parked outside the grocer’s shop. He remembered his dad had said he could borrow it because his was in the garage for a service, and was pleased, it would give him an excuse for not waiting for a lift home. He would say that he’d forgotten about the service and when his father’s car wasn’t around he’d presumed that he had missed the choral society because of some emergency at work. His excuses to his father grew more elaborate every day.
    In the cafeteria Anna Bennett pretended not to notice that John had left without buying her a drink, without saying goodbye. The place was busy so she could chat to her friends and ignore her mother’s glances of anxious sympathy.
    ‘Gabby wasn’t here tonight,’ Prue said to Ellen as she collected her coffee.
    Ellen looked up, said nothing.
    ‘She told me she’d be here,’ Prue said, trying to contain her impatience. ‘You don’t know where she might be?’
    Ellen shook her head then seemed to realize that some contribution was expected.
    ‘Perhaps she’s poorly,’ she said.
    ‘She didn’t say anything this morning,’ Prue said. ‘ But perhaps that’s it. Perhaps she didn’t feel well at school and went straight home.’
    ‘You don’t want to worry about that one. She can look after herself,’ Ellen said unhelpfully. She began to serve the next customer and added as an afterthought: ‘No need to fuss.’
    ‘All the same,’ Prue said, ‘ I think we’d better go home and check.’ She imagined Gabby in the house at Otterbridge, alone, seriously ill. She drank her coffee quickly and called to Anna who was standing at the edge of a group of girls, smiling too brightly, pretending too hard to be interested in what they were saying. With a relief that was only obvious to Prue, Anna gathered up her coat and bag and followed her mother into the lobby.
    At an impressive wooden desk sat a short, thick set, bald man, reading the Sun. This was Joe Fenwick, retired boxer, porter and security man. He looked up from the paper and smiled.
    ‘All right, Miss Bennett?’ he said. ‘Finished for the night, then, pet?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Prue, then, contradicting herself, ‘no, I’d forgotten. I must see Gus before I go.’ She turned to her daughter apologetically. ‘He’s worked out a final draft for the programme and I want to check it before it’s printed. I’ll take it home with me.’
    ‘Go on then!’ said Anna, long suffering, tolerant of her mother’s middle-aged absentmindedness. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’
    Prue ran up the stairs and paused outside Gus’s office door to catch her breath, then knocked and went straight in. She saw first that Gus had a visitor then that she had interrupted some silent confrontation. Gus was sitting behind his desk facing a middle-aged woman who sat squarely in a leather chair inherited with the house. The woman was well dressed, confident, classy. Prue recognized her as Amelia Wood, Deputy Chair of the Grace Darling trustees. Prue composed herself. Mrs Wood was an intruding presence and she wondered briefly what trouble the