Read The Killing of Katie Steelstock for Free Online

circumstances where a good strong cup of tea with plenty of sugar in it didn’t do me a power of good.”
    The tea had been made and Mrs. Havelock was on the point of pouring it out when she paused. In the silence they all heard the click of the lock.
    “Someone at the kitchen door,” said Rosina.
    “Burglars,” said Lavinia. “Go and see, Mike.” Michael was sixteen and big for his age. He got up with a fair assumption of nonchalance and went out. There was scuffling; batlike voices were raised in protest; and he reappeared dragging the nine-year-old Sim by one ear. Roney followed, looking apprehensive.
    “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” said Mrs. Havelock. “You ought to have been in bed hours ago.”
    “Well, Mum, you see—”
    “And what’s happened to Sim’s trousers?”
    “It was old Cavey shouting at us. It startled us. Sim got caught in the barbed wire.”
    Roney was a very good-looking boy with an engaging smile which had extracted him from countless tight corners. He switched it on now. His mother seemed far from placated. She said, “It was very naughty of you. You know you were meant to be looking after the babies.”
    “They were all right,” said Roney. “They were asleep. Snoring like anything. We didn’t think you’d mind if we went out, just for a short time. After all, you were all enjoying yourselves.”
    “Well—” said Mrs. Havelock.
    “You’re letting him wriggle out of it, as usual,” said Lavinia. “He ought to be on bread and water for a week.”
    “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” said Mrs. Havelock. “Take those trousers off, Sim, and leave them on my work basket. They’ll need a patch putting in them.”
    The boys accepted this as dismissal with a caution. When he was safe in the doorway, with the door open, Roney said, “You’ve changed, Lavinia—did you know it yourself? I wonder—into someone quite, quite different.”
    “You little beast,” said Lavinia, jumping up. “Just wait till I get hold of you.”
    Roney slammed the door, and they heard his feet scuttering down the passage.
    “It’s no good,” said Michael. “He’ll lock his bedroom door. If you want to do anything to him you’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
    “It’s time someone took him in hand,” said Mrs. Havelock. “He ought to be at boarding school, only the fees are so impossible nowadays.”
    “What exciting lives you do all lead,” said Miss Tress wistfully. “I really must be going.”
    When she got home, she undressed slowly and climbed into her four-poster bed. It was a pity the night was so warm or she might have comforted herself with a hot water bottle. She looked at the bedside table and looked quickly away again.
    What a difficult and expensive life Mrs. Havelock must lead. Seven children to feed and clothe and educate. The young ones, she knew, went to the secondary school at Hannington – that sweet little Roney – but the three older children were at Coverdales, the well-known Reading grammar school. A day school, but by no means cheap.
    She looked at the bedside table again and her resolution weakened. One of the tablets would surely do no harm. The doctor had warned her. They’re strong. Don’t start to rely on them. It’s much better to sleep naturally if you can.
    She took one of the tablets. Might two work quicker? Better not. She was already beginning to feel drowsy when she thought she heard a car start up. It must have been parked actually on the towpath. She listened to it driving away, and as she did so was suddenly shaken by an uncontrollable fit of shuddering. It was as though a powerful electric shock had passed through her body. She reached out a hand, which was shaking so badly that she had some difficulty in unscrewing the top of the bottle, tipped out the tablets onto the bedside table and crammed two of them into her mouth. Her throat was so dry that they choked her. She grabbed the carafe of water that stood on the table