Read Walking Wounded for Free Online Page B

Wendy House. Christine or Sally had stuck cellophane across them and John decided now that the light was like trying to see underwater – the mysteries of the deep. He was aware of Sally’s white nightdress with red flowers eddyinguncertainly around the room. A huge dark shape swayed beside her.
    â€˜Ah haven’t seen you for a fortnight,’ Alec growled gently.
    â€˜You’re seeing me now. Come on, lie down. You look whacked.’
    â€˜A fortnight,’ Alec said.
    â€˜You need some rest.’
    â€˜A fortnight.’
    Once Alec got hold of an idea, he didn’t give it up easily. He wasn’t moving. The thought that he hadn’t seen Sally for a fortnight appeared to have transfixed him, like some great revelation not vouchsafed to many.
    â€˜A fortnight.’
    â€˜A fortnight, Alec.’
    Something was biting into John’s unstockinged foot savagely. The pain was becoming unbearable but he was afraid to move. He was also terrified that if he changed the position of his other leg the knee would crack. He could be the first recorded case of a stiff knee proving fatal. Alec spoke an eerie echo of John’s thought.
    â€˜It’s a good thing for whoever it is that he isny here.’
    The logic was opaque but John understood it perfectly.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Sally said.
    â€˜A fortnight,’ Alec said.
    In a moment of wild panic, John could imagine the cryptic exchange going on until his emaciated body was lifted too late, from the Wendy House. There was a noise that he was sure meant Alec had sat down on the bed. He hoped that was a good sign. Something hit the Wendy House and it buckled slightly and rattled against his head. He almost called out in panic.
    â€˜Oops,’ Alec said.
    â€˜Watch Christine’s Wendy House.’
    No, no, you bloody mug, John was screaming to himself. Don’t draw his attention to it. What Wendy House? There is no Wendy House. He might come over and inspect it for damage.
    â€˜â€™S all right, love,’ Alec said. ‘Just ma shoe.’
    The other shoe hit the floor.
    â€˜Lie down, Alec.’
    â€˜Hm?’
    â€˜Let me get your jacket off. That’s it. Right, lie down.’
    â€˜Uh-huh.’
    The bed squeaked on its castors. Alec sighed, a sound like a small whirlwind. There was silence. John strained into it desperately. He was about to move his leg when he froze the movement, biting his lip.
    â€˜Sally,’ Alec said.
    Sally said nothing. A couple of minutes passed. Someone was at the door of the Wendy House. Although John had seen Sally’s nightdress move towards him, he was still tensed as the door opened, as though it might have been Alec in drag. Sally was crouched looking in at him, her forefinger to her lips. Did she think he might be singing? She held his clothes with one arm against her body. With the other she motioned him to follow.
    Tiptoeing after her, John couldn’t escape the hallucinatory feeling that he was in a fairy story after all. And John tiptoed from his little house past the sleeping giant and followed the good fairy. He glanced very quickly at Alec in case looking at him might waken him. He seemed gross in sleep. His mouth, like every other part of him, appeared to make more noise than was consistent with performing its basic function. His lips flapped in the wind of his breathing.
    In the hall, John studied his heel briefly and saw the imprint of the face of the miniature doll – savage little household god. As he dressed very swiftly, Sally stroked his hair a couple of times. She mouthed his ear. Was she mad? He had noticed that before about women, how quickly they forgot risk when they were feeling roused. At the open door she held his arm.
    â€˜It’s all right now,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that he’s impossible when he’s drunk.’
    John nodded.
    â€˜In the morning I’ll send him packing. No problem. He’ll go