The Solid Mandala (43 page)

“Eh?” he asked. “Don't tell me nothun
catastrophic
's happened?”

It was one of the words he had picked up and particularly favoured.

“No,” she said. “Nothing I can think of.”

It would all trickle out in time. For Bill's temporary good she felt it would not be a kindness to announce: Waldo Brown is dead or worse killed several days the dogs eating him which the
sergeant or young Kentwell shot and Arthur off his head gone with the sergeant Arthur who never hurt a fly Waldo can only of died of spite like a boil must burst at last with pus and nothing can touch Arthur nothing can touch me not the part of us that matters not if they tear our fingernails off.

“Saw old Dun,” said Bill. “Had to fetch the doctor to his missus.”

“Oh?” she said.

“Threw a sort of fit.”

It made Bill laugh.

“Mrs Dun, I believe,” Mrs Poulter said, “is not very strong.”

When she put his tea in front of him, Bill sat a moment, elbows cocked, hands laid on the knife and fork, looking down at the contents of his plate. He had always been suspicious.

“That's a real nice loin chop,” she said, to encourage. “The other one isn't so presentable. But perhaps it will eat better than it looks. I think it's something Mr Finlayson threw in for luck.”

Then she turned, to do the expected things, before re-entering her actual sphere of life.