Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

to do some more searching in the alley? He might ask them if they hung around for too long, but it was getting cold, and Gordon was tired, in need of a reviving nap.

William appeared, coming out of Gordon’s flat.

What?

William talked to four policemen in uniform, who stood on the pavement now, nodding and looking serious. Then William’s friend joined them, and William spoke at length, although Gordon couldn’t catch what was being said. All six of them went into Gordon’s flat, and he wondered what they were doing in there. He hoped they weren’t touching his spider quilt. Those were his friends, no one else’s. Had William called around after all these years, to speak with Gordon, wanting to get to know him, found his flat empty, and had become worried?

That would be nice, to have someone who worried about him again. Like Gran had. He missed her concern, her smile, her warm cuddles. Her smell. Her wise words.

Her death of a heart attack had stunned him. He hadn’t expected it—and neither had she. In the hospital, before the angels had taken her, she’d told Gordon that she must have indulged in too much butter throughout her life or something and her heart hadn’t taken kindly to it. She’d also said that the past always caught up with you at some point and he should be careful.

Gordon’s eyes glazed.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “That thing you said about the past?”

“I know all about it, Gordy.”

“About what?”

“About what you did. To them.” She sighed.

“But it couldn’t have been me, Gran. I was at your house those nights, remember?” He didn’t want her thinking badly of him. She needed to see him as a good boy, a decent boy, not the ugly little fucker he really was. Someone in this world had to view him with kind eyes instead of harsh, spiteful ones.

“Yes, you were there, but not all the time,” she whispered.

Gordon looked at her, trying to see if she was guessing or if she knew for sure. Her eyes had never lied to him, and in them he saw that yes, she knew for sure. And she’d kept it quiet? The fact that he’d killed her daughter—she hadn’t told anyone about it?

“I know why you did it, Gordy. I must say”—she winced, resting a palm on her chest—“that I was tempted to do it myself many a time.”

Gordon was shocked. Gran? Kill someone? It wasn’t possible.

“I heard you going out,” she said. “She was my child, but she wasn’t a good person. I wanted you living with me, but time and again she said no. I even rang Social Services on her, but nothing came of it.”

Gran seemed to gag on her own voice, and the monitor beside the bed let out a wretched scream. Nurses came, surrounding her, one of them drawing Gordon away then snapping the curtains closed around the bed, shutting him out.

He listened to the commotion, only able to imagine what was going on behind those strangely wafting curtains. The weird whine of some machine or other. A thud. Nurses saying “Clear!” The whine. The thud again.

Time of death was pronounced, and Gordon had never been as crushed in his whole life. He had been crushed as a kid, as a teenager, but never like this.

Never.

 

 

He shuddered, as though someone had walked over his grave, and looked around to orient himself. Mr Ustav was still in front of the launderette doorway and glanced at where half of Gordon’s face was on show, his gaze drifting past him then darting back again, the old man peering as if convincing himself it was Gordon he was staring at. Gordon remained where he was, easing his face behind the awning side, waiting a few heartbeats then sticking his face out again.

Mr Ustav was gone.

Not ready to meet William just yet, and wanting to rid himself of the awful memory that had come from nowhere, Gordon crossed the road and entered the pub, one called Squatter’s Rights, which was a little weird for a pub name but who was Gordon to question it? At the bar, he ordered a large pot of tea plus a pie and chips. He might as well eat out, a celebration that his mission had had a satisfactory conclusion.

He picked a table by the window so he could see his flat door from there and settled himself down in readiness to browse Facebook on his phone. It seemed such a long time since he’d done that. It would be nice to get things back to normal.

He took his beanie and coat off, then placed the beanie on the table and draped his coat over the back of the chair. He took his phone from his pocket and tapped the Facebook icon. His newsfeed came up, then an alert asking if he wanted to switch on his location. Yes, he could do that now he’d completed his mission.

Then he selected his favourite page, seeing many memes there that he hadn’t read yet and some he’d seen before.

Each stepping stone forwards is valid, and although you might slip from time to time, pick yourself up and start again. We can but continue our journeys despite the odds stacked against us. Those who push forwards and create harmony within themselves are the greatest achievers.

That was a good one. And yes, he had to agree with that. Gordon was one of life’s greatest achievers. Look at what he’d overcome. All right, it had taken drastic measures, but it had been worth it to feel as he did now.

He went to the search function and got on with typing in Anita’s name. It brought her up before he’d even got to the T—she was, after all, his only friend—and he clicked, being taken to her page.