Cold Skin Read Online Free Page B

pale.
    I told him,
    ‘My name’s Kenneth.
    Or Mr Paley to you.’
    I tried to explain . . .
    He was wrong.
    Why would I . . .
    My hands were shaking
    and I could barely control my legs.
    He threatened me.
    I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . the Mayor.
    No one gives me orders.
    When he left my office,
    I slumped back in my chair
    gripping the desk.
    What can I do?
    What can I do?

Eddie
    Mr Paley is on the bridge,
    pleading.
    The thick rope is around his neck,
    circles his hands,
    goes down to the tracks
    and under the wooden sleeper.
    My dad stares across at the bridge
    and reaches into his pocket,
    taking out his smokes.
    He casually begins rolling a fag
    as if he’s got all day.
    Mr Paley shouts something
    I can’t hear over the swirling water.
    Then he drops to his knees.
    Is he crying?
    Or praying?
    Why isn’t Dad going to help?
    He’s just cupping his hands
    as he lights his smoke
    in the shade of a tree
    beside the river.

Albert Holding
    He’s not going to jump until he has to.
    I know Fatty.
    There were blokes like him in the army,
    working in stores,
    loading ships,
    doing anything to avoid fighting.
    All of us cowards
    got the cushy home jobs
    while men like Frank went off
    and faced their own tortures,
    for mongrels like Fatty and me.
    You could pick us out
    when we returned home.
    We talked louder
    and exaggerated our piddling little army jobs,
    or trotted out excuses about physical defects
    and doctor’s orders stopping us from fighting.
    All bullshit.
    Cowards and bullshit.
    They’re best mates.
    I know Fatty
    because
    I know myself.
    There he is,
    whimpering,
    blubbering.
    I think of that poor girl
    and what he must have done.
    My hands are steady,
    solid as a rock
    when I light the cigarette.
    The rope flexes.
    Cheetham’s knot works.
    Fatty can’t escape.
    The more he struggles
    the tighter it gets.
    ‘It’s your choice, Fatty.’
    I hope for his sake he jumps
    and tests the strength of the rope.
    Maybe it won’t hold
    and he’ll fall into the river below.
    Then we’ll let Frank take care of him.
    But for Colleen’s sake,
    I hope he stands there and faces the train
    and gets wiped out.
    Disappears.
    I flick the cigarette
    and watch it get sucked under the whirlpool.
    Not long now.

Mayor Paley
    I tried to tell him it was a misunderstanding.
    The young girl was laughing.
    I thought she was interested.
    I was drunk!
    For God’s sake!
    When I tried to kiss her
    she backed away into the bushes.
    I followed.
    Maybe I grabbed at her skirt and pulled.
    Holding punched me!
    While I was dazed he tied my hands
    and shackled me to this.
    ‘Let me go!
    I’m the Mayor, you know.
    What if a train comes?’
    What happened with the girl was an accident!
    She tried to run past me
    and I grabbed her again.
    I didn’t know what I was doing.
    She screamed.
    I thought she’d wake the neighbourhood.
    The look of disgust on her face!
    Didn’t she know who I was?
    Once!
    Only once I slapped her.
    She stumbled and fell.
    Her head hit a rock.
    A horrid sound.
    If only she hadn’t struggled.
    I wasn’t going to hurt her.
    When I saw the blood . . .
    There was nothing more I could do.
    An accident.
    ‘This is an outrage.
    Untie these ropes!
    Now!’

Eddie
    Suddenly, I hear the train whistle
    in the distance.
    Mr Paley screams.
    He’s shaking the rope
    side to side.
    Frantic.
    He’s running on the spot,
    trying to free himself from the noose.
    Dad points up the tracks
    and shouts across to Mr Paley,
    ‘It’s your choice, Fatty.’
    The whistle answers
    and I know the coal train
    will soon be bearing down on Mr Paley.
    I plunge into the water.
    It’s so cold,
    my breath catches in my throat.
    Maybe I can get there
    and loosen the rope
    before the train.
    Dad shouts something
    as I struggle to the bank
    and start climbing.
    ‘I’m coming, Mr Paley.’
    I grab tufts of weeds to pull myself up,
    my feet digging into the soft soil,
    scrambling with every ounce of effort.
    Mr Paley is shouting,
    ‘Hurry up,