Read The Merchant's House for Free Online Page A

It’s the best thing, believe me. Then we can get out … move on.’
    Sludge and Julie grunted reluctant approval. Donna, eyes closed in oblivion, had no opinion whatsoever.
    The kettle was boiling. Pamela Peterson watched the steam rise and frost half of the kitchen window. She was starting work the next day, covering for someone’s maternity leave. This would be her last chance for a while to drink tea at leisure in the afternoon. But she needed to get back to work … to take her mind off things.
    They had promised to phone today. She looked at the telephone on the wall and picked up the receiver, just to make sure it was still working: it always was.
    Pam carried the tray through to the living room and put it down on the coffee table. She looked at her guest; her new neighbour who had called to introduce herself. A baby, tucked discreetly inside its mother’s sweatshirt, made little snuffling noises as it sucked.
    The neighbour, a young woman about Pam’s age, looked up and saw that Pam was staring.
    ‘I’m sorry. Er, you don’t mind? He was hungry and I didn’t want him to bawl the place down,’ she said, hoping she hadn’t caused offence.
    ‘No, no. Of course not.’
    ‘Only some people are a bit … you know.’
    The baby disengaged itself and gave a satisfied sigh.
    ‘I was really pleased when you moved in next door.’ The neighbour had the rare knack of talking intelligibly while munching a chocolate digestive. ‘It’s about time we had someone young on the road. It’s been full of geriatrics for years. Good for baby-sitters, though – all those frustrated grannies.’
    Pam smiled weakly.
    The neighbour glanced at her slyly, cradling the relaxed and sated baby in her arms. ‘I saw your husband going out this morning.’ She raised her eyebrows, a comment or a question left unsaid. ‘What does he do?’
    ‘He’s a policeman … CID.’
    ‘Oh,’ mouthed the neighbour, obviously surprised. ‘You’ve no kids, then?’
    Pam shook her head and looked away.
    ‘I suppose you’ll wait till you’ve settled in. It must be a big upheaval moving from London.’ She looked at the baby, now asleep. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I must get back. My sister’s calling round in half an hour. Thanks for the tea. It was really nice to meet you.’ She stood up. ‘Can you hold him a minute while I get my things together? I’ve left his bag in the hall.’
    She passed the sleeping bundle to Pam, who took it gingerly. Left alone, she gazed down at the tiny bald creature in her arms and ran her finger fleetingly across the soft, flawless cheek. She could smell him: that vanilla smell that babies possess to enslave their mothers and other members of their court. She felt him move softly against her breast, and the tears started to roll down her face.
    Then the phone shattered the silence. Pam tore a tissue from the box on the windowsill and wiped her eyes.
    Julie, Donna, Dave and Sludge sat at the back of the single-decker bus, filled with pensioners making full use of their cheap bus passes and a smattering of harassed mothers with noisy, dripping-nosed children. The other passengers carefully avoided staring at the chains dripping from Donna’s nose, apart from one dirty-faced toddler who studied them earnestly throughout the journey. The English public transport user prefers to ignore the existence of anything out of the ordinary.
    When the bus stopped at the harbour, they were the last to get off. The driver watched the four disappear into the distance, shook his head and mumbled something to himself about National Service.
    They strolled along the harbour embankment, too preoccupied to enjoy the watery September sun. The busy craft plied like scuttling insects up and down the shimmering river. There was more activity on the water than on the out-of-season riverfront. The cobbled embankment was quiet.
    ‘Is it far?’ Sludge spoke for the first time since they had set out from Neston.
    ‘Fair walk … past the