Read A Certain Age for Free Online

he gone?” and I kept having to explain that when someone’s disappeared nobody knows where they’ve gone; that’s the point of disappearing. In the end I said I’d ring her later. But it was obvious we should cancel the party: imagine we were passing round the mushroom vol au vents and the police turned up to say they’d found Steve’s mutilated body or something. It would be like something out of a book. Or what if we turned it into a memorial tea, and he turned up? I sound like I don’t care. I do care about what’s happened to Steve; I’d hate him to be hurt or unhappy or dead. But after twenty-five years of living with him I just know he’s all right. He’s playing at something, and I just don’t know what – perhaps he’s trying to test me. Drive me over the edge with worry, like when we’re halfway to Malaga and he’ll say, “You OK now,Henny?” and I say, “I’m all right if I don’t look out of the window,” and he says, “I’ve just thought, Henny, I don’t want to worry you, but what if the regular milkman, who knows we’re on holiday, is suddenly struck down with flu? And then there’s a botched handover at the dairy and the replacement doesn’t know we’re on holiday, and leaves a pint of milk every day, and then the burglars spot all the bottles and they break in and take the telly?” Then we’ll spend the rest of our holiday with me saying, “Look, I’ll ring the dairy, I can easily get the number,” and him saying to people, “Can you believe what my wife is worried about?” and them all looking at me and laughing.
    Mr and Mrs Bryan called me in this afternoon from the Egdon Pleasure Park (the swings) and said the police had been round asking questions about me. “You realise we had to tell them everything we knew,” said Mrs Bryan, bless her. She put a pay envelope on the desk, which was very odd because it was only the 17th, and said, “Would you like some time at home, dear? It must be hard to concentrate under all this strain.” For a minute I couldn’t think what strain she was referring to, and then I said, “No, I’m feeling fine, actually, apart from where that little boy at the Gabriel Oak Experience wielded his stake too far back and banged me in the eye.” But Mr Bryan looked at the pay-packet, and folded his arms and didn’t look at me. I realised they wanted me to go home, so I thanked them and took it, and got in the car and here I am. It’s the first time I’ve been upset, to be honest. [
Sounds upset
] I feel like one of those sheep with all the air let out. It’s not fair. All the time Steve was around I managed to keep my nice job; the minute he goes, and I’m free to enjoy it at last, my nice employers send me home.
    Scene Five: home
    I’ve been trying to read
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
again this afternoon, but it’s a bit hard going. Not because of the story, actually, although I can’t say I like it very much, the introduction says it’s full of all these big dramatic ironies, and as Steve would say, “Well, that’s not entertainment, is it?” No, it’s the names. I mean, Angel Clare? Down the village you can get a very nice doggy perm and manicure at the Angel Clare. Why did the Bryans send me home? I can’t believe they were so upset by the visit from the police, and anyway I don’t see it’s my fault that Steve’s run off – or banged his head, or suffered the nasty living flesh thing. DS Law says now he’s been gone four days they can check to see whether he’s left the country, apparently they’ll know later on today. I feel guilty that I don’t miss Steve. I think that’s why everyone’s so suspicious, thinking I’ve bumped him off or something, because I’ve been so light-hearted. In fact, now I think of it, didn’t Mrs Bryan come in yesterday when I was demonstrating the Gabriel Oak thing to the kiddies – stabbing that stake into that sheep – and really enjoying it? “Take that!” I was saying. [
Grunts