The Quarry Read Free Page B

bedrooms much beyond taking the chill off. The upper floor, which housed the servants in the old days, isn’t heated at all, though a little warmth finds its way up there anyway because nothing in this house fits or insulates properly.
    Guy still talks with surprising bitterness about the folly of removing the Aga that used to take up half of one kitchen wall and replacing it with an electric cooker. That happened nearly a quarter of a century ago, when his parents were modernising the place. He used to talk of buying a new Aga, or at least one new to us, but he never did, and now, of course, never will.
    I’ve grown used to the house slowly crumbling away around me – I’ve grown up with it – and of course I see it happen very slowly and incrementally, every day, while Paul visits only about once a year, so any changes will look more dramatic. He glances back to the front door. ‘Think the rain’s going off. I’ll get my gear.’
    ‘I’ll help,’ I say, remembering to be helpful. Holly comes out to the car, too. Paul points the key fob at the giant Audi and the rear hatch hisses up. ‘Cool,’ I say. We have a dark blue Volvo estate, which is older than I am. Guy bought it from an antique dealer in Buxton twenty years ago and now it’s practically an antique itself, he says. It lives in the wooden garage, which sort of leans against the south side of the house. I can drive it, after passing my test last year, though I’ve never driven it very far and I’m frightened of the motorway. I keep it maintained, too, though it’s a messy business, requiring several sets of overalls, and surgical gloves. Sometimes two layers.
    ‘Grab that antique Halliburton, will you, Kit?’ Paul says, nodding at an aluminium case. I lift it. Paul pulls out a posh-looking suitcase. I think it’s made from carbon fibre. Hol steps forward, hand out. ‘Hol?’ Paul says, sounding concerned. ‘You sure you should be carrying anything, in your condition?’ Hol glares at him. ‘You know, with that enlarged spleen and overactive bile duct of yours? Sure we’re not going against medical—’
    ‘I thought you might need help getting your ego into the house,’ Hol tells him.
    Paul just laughs, then says, ‘Still working for Sight Unseen ?’
    ‘ Sight and Sound , and fuck you again. And don’t pretend you don’t read it, even if it’s just because you have to.’
    He laughs again.
    ‘I’m not any bigger,’ I tell Paul as we head back into the hall.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m the same size as I was last summer, last time you were here.’
    ‘Oh. Are you?’
    ‘Yes. I’m one hundred kilos.’
    ‘Are you now?’
    ‘I’m always one hundred kilos. I have been since before I was sixteen.’
    ‘Really.’
    ‘I just like being one hundred kilos.’
    ‘I see,’ Paul says, as we troop up the stairs. ‘Well, that’s, ah, that’s a nice round number.’
    ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Exactly.’ I’m leading the way up the stairs at this point so I can’t see his expression.
    Guy’s bedroom bell jangles again and a moment later I hear Mrs Gunn bustling out of the kitchen, muttering, ‘Yes, yes, I hear you. Can’t be in three places at once.’ She comes stamping up the stairs behind us.
    ‘Hello again, Mrs G!’ Paul says cheerily as she passes us.
    ‘Mm-hmm,’ she says, not looking at any of us as she passes. She has her outside wellies on and is taking off her gardening gloves as she goes, disappearing round the corner at the top of the stairs.
    ‘How is Guy?’ I hear Paul say quietly.
    ‘Haven’t seen him yet,’ Hol tells him. ‘No better, from what—’
    I turn round, lower my head and my voice and whisper, ‘He’s still dying,’ to Paul.
    Paul looks instantly serious. ‘Sorry to hear that,’ he says.
    Behind him, Hol seems to be keeping a neutral expression.
    We’re in the kitchen ten minutes later, drinking tea that I’ve made and eating shortbread that Mrs Gunn has made – she is still upstairs, probably