Read Lets Drink To The Dead for Free Online Page A

though.”
    “Coffee’d be fantastic.”
    John settled back, watched her eat. “Where are you from? Yorkshire?”
    She nodded.
    “A long way from home. Did you say you were hitchhiking?”
    “Yeah.” She didn’t look up; she kept eating. The stew was OK – not brilliant, but it was hot and filling and that was all that mattered right now.
    John didn’t say anything else, just waited. Finally she put down the spoon, started talking. Felt good to tell someone.
    “Dad lost his job when they closed down the pit. Bloody Thatcher. There’s nowt back where I’m from. No jobs, nowt. Mam’s trying to keep everyone fed. Dad–” She took a breath. It was hard to think of Dad. “He’s just struggling. Can’t find work, can’t feed his family. He’s proud. Was. And I’ve got two brothers, a sister, they’re all kids. Too many mouths to feed. I tried to get a job, but like I said, there’s nowt. So I decided I’d head for Manchester, see if I could get summat there. Mebbe make enough to send a bit extra back home.” John was staring into the fire; she wondered how much he’d even taken in. “You know?”
    He nodded. “It can be good to have a family. It’s not always easy, being on your own. Then again, sometimes it’s better. Would you like a cigarette?”
    “Ta.” She had a couple left in her bag, in a crumpled packet. She’d probably have to give them up soon. But it was nice to indulge now, while she could. John lit their cigarettes with a battered Ronson lighter. She took a drag, then a sip of her coffee and settled back. He wanted to talk now. That was alright. Least she could do was listen. It wasn’t a big price to pay.
    John leant back, blew smoke from his nostrils. “I’ve been here a long time. More than thirty years now, in fact.”
    “Thirty?” Jesus.
    “After a while... after a while you get used to living like this. Institutionalised, almost.” He chuckled. “It actually becomes difficult to leave. But... well, I remember how it used to be. This is the main building. The admin block, where Ash Fell was run from. There were five main blocks around this building, where the patients were. Psychiatric cases and facial injuries, mostly. From the First World War.”
    God. Dani huddled up, pulling her knees in close. This was pretty creepy. She wasn’t sure she liked it. Outside the wind rose; rain rattled against the windows. Better in here than out there. He seemed harmless enough.
    “A man called Sir Charles Dace built Ash Fell,” John said. “He was a wealthy businessman and landowner in these parts. He’d served in the war and encouraged a lot of the local men to join up. Most of them died on the Somme. He felt guilty. So he built this place for other survivors. People so badly mutilated they’d never be able to go home again. Or people who were incurably insane. None of them could ever have normal lives again, but at least here they’d be decently treated.”
    Firelight played over John’s face. He had to be seventy-odd if he were a day, but if anything he looked older. And very sad. Dad often looked like that, slumped in his armchair, looking at the coal crackling in the grate. Don’t think of Dad. Not now. She was warm and had a full belly and she hadn’t had to shag anyone to do it. That was happiness now.
    “When Sir Charles died,” John said, “his sons, St. John and Gideon Dace, expected to inherit his money. Unfortunately it didn’t turn out that way. They found that Sir Charles had poured all his money into the hospital. What he hadn’t spent, he’d put into a trust fund to keep the place running. He’d bankrupted the family business, spent every penny of their inheritance, and as you can imagine, they weren’t particularly happy about it. St. John Dace had no idea what to do. He was the heir, but not particularly bright. Gideon, however, was a different proposition.”
    Dani’s eyelids drooped. She forced them open again. Not polite to fall asleep while he