The Winds of Change Read Free Page A

for a cold remedy depicting a skier happily taking a spill into a pile of snow. He was happy about it.
    As the train clattered along, Jury studied an old Kit Kat wrapper on the floor, moving between high heels and scuffed boots. He watched it shift along, liking to think of themselves, he and Sarah, as kids going cheerily along to a sweet shop, but this image was his own concoction; he doubted they’d gone much of anywhere together.
    I don’t even like that cat. Right.
    He got up for his stop at the Angel.

    Darkness had registered on him while he was walking along Regent Street, but the time hadn’t. It was nearly ten o’clock. Where in God’s name had he been all of this time?
    The lights were on in Mrs. Wasserman’s garden flat, and in a moment she was out and up the stairs in her old bathrobe.
    ‘Mr. Jury, there was someone trying to get hold of you. Carole-anne said there were two messages on your answering machine and I was to tell you. From someone named Bernard.’
    ‘Brendan?’
    ‘She said Bernard.’
    Jury smiled. ‘Carole-anne has trouble getting my messages straight.’ Boy, did she ever. Especially the messages from females. Carole-anne had always thought the only life Jury would ever spend away from hers was an afterlife. ‘Thanks, Mrs. Wasserman.’ He turned toward the steps.
    ‘Is everything all right, Mr. Jury? You look pale.’
    In the dead dark, how could she tell? Maybe he just sounded pale.
    ‘Yes ... No. Actually I got a bit of bad news. My cousin died. Brendan’s her husband. That’s why he’s trying to reach me. To tell me.’
    ‘I am so sorry. So sorry. To lose one’s family, that is the worst thing.’
    It was as if, to her, all of the family were circumscribed in every member. To lose one was to lose all. ‘She was the last of the family. Except for me, I mean.’
    ‘Oh, my. My.’ She clutched the bathrobe tighter around her neck. ‘That is so dreadful. A person feels disconnected. I know I did. Like a balloon, that was how I felt. Drifting up farther and farther, a prisoner of gravity.’
    Jury was surprised. Mrs. Wasserman didn’t often speak metaphorically. ‘That’s a good way of putting it, Mrs. Wasserman. That’s pretty much how I feel.’
    ‘Could I make you a cup of tea?’
    ‘That’s nice of you, but I think I’m too tired. I’ve been walking.’ She shut her eyes and nodded, familiar apparently with walking as anodyne.
    ‘So I’ll say good night. Thanks for giving me the message.’
    She turned away as he did and they went in.
    As he put the key in the door of the first-floor flat, he heard a short bark, more of a woof. It was Stone, so Carole-anne must be out. She always looked after him when she was in. They all did, when they could. Sometimes Stan took the dog along, but not if there was to be a lot of traveling.
    He plucked Stan’s key from a hook inside the door, went up to the second floor and opened the door. Stone did not come bounding out, as most dogs would; Stone was as cool as Stan. The most excitement he ever displayed was some tail wagging. He followed Jury down the stairs, went inside and stood until it was disclosed to him what he should do. He had the patience and self-possession of one of those mummers wearing white clown suits, faces painted white. They stayed amazingly still, still as statues, which people passing took them to be.
    Jury found the rawhide bone and set it at the foot of his chair.
    Stone lay down and started in chewing. ‘I’m putting the kettle on.’
    Stone stopped chewing and looked up at Jury.
    ‘You want a cup? No? Okay. Want something to eat?’ Stone woofed quietly. ‘That must mean yes. Okay.’
    He left Stone to his chew. He plugged in the kettle and rinsed out a mug and dropped in a tea bag. The kettle boiled as soon as he’d spooned a can of dog food into Stone’s dish and called him. Then he poured water over the tea bag and let it steep while he watched Stone eat. That got boring, so he tossed the tea