Free Nightmare by Stephen Leather Page B

and they’re not cheap.’ He put away his pen. ‘You’re insured, yeah?’
    ‘I hope so.’
    ‘You don’t know?’
    ‘I’m assuming I am. I’ll check.’ He handed the builder a business card. ‘Send the estimates to me at the office.’
    They walked together down the stairs, across the muddy hall and outside. The builder looked up at the house. ‘They don’t build them like this any more,’ he said. ‘Did you just buy it?’
    ‘My father left it to me.’
    ‘Are you going to live here? Or are you planning to sell it?’
    Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’ve not decided.’
    ‘Let me know if you want to sell. I’m doing some work for a Russian who lives a few miles away who’s always complaining about his place being too small. He keeps putting in plans to extend but the local council don’t like him so he’s not getting anywhere. He’d love this place.’
    ‘Let me think about it,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’ll let you know once I’ve seen your estimates.’
    They shook hands, then Garner climbed into his van and drove off. Nightingale lit a cigarette and was just about to go inside when Jenny came out.
    She shook her head when she saw that he was smoking. ‘How many do you smoke a day?’ she asked.
    ‘A pack. Two, sometimes.’
    ‘Even though you know the dangers?’
    ‘Of smoking?’
    ‘Of course of smoking. Is everything a joke to you, Jack?’
    Nightingale blew smoke up at the sky. ‘Everybody dies,’ he said. ‘Life is a zero sum game. The best you can do is to enjoy yourself as you go along.’
    ‘But smoking shortens your life.’
    ‘Maybe. But it only takes the years from the end of your life. Not the beginning or the middle.’
    Jenny looked at him, confused. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you mean.’
    Nightingale took another drag on his cigarette before continuing. ‘Say I live until I’m seventy-five without smoking. And say I die at seventy if I do smoke. I lose five years. But really, Jenny, what am I going to be doing during those five years? Sitting in a bedsit somewhere watching the football, assuming I’ve enough of a pension to be able to afford Sky Sport?’
    ‘That’s how you envisage your final years, is it? What about grandchildren? What about family?’
    Nightingale laughed. ‘To have grandkids I’d need kids and to have kids I’d need a wife or at least a steady girlfriend, and that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen any time soon. Here’s the thing, Jenny. It’s not about how long you live, it’s about enjoying the life you have. And I’m happy smoking.’
    ‘You’re mad.’
    ‘Maybe. It’s like my car. My MGB.’
    ‘The car that you can’t use because the battery’s flat again?’
    ‘It’s a classic,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘You keep saying that. But it’s not. It’s an old banger.’
    ‘It makes me happy. I enjoy driving it. It’s got a history and I like the way it handles.’
    ‘On the few occasions that it’s actually on the road, you mean?’
    ‘I’m not saying that your Audi isn’t a great car. But driving your Audi is a totally different experience to being at the wheel of a classic car. You feel connected to the road. You really feel the speed when you’re in the MGB, even though the Audi is faster. Driving it could well shorten my life. There’re no airbags, the seatbelts are crap, the brakes aren’t smart like they are in the Audi, so if I get into a smash I’ll probably come off worst. But does knowing that stop me driving it? No. Because I enjoy it. The pleasure outweighs the risks.’ He held up the cigarette. ‘Smoking makes me feel good. It relaxes me, it helps me concentrate . . .’
    ‘It gives you something to do with your hands.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Everyone knows that cigarettes help people get through awkward social situations.’
    ‘Jenny, really, I just enjoy smoking.’
    Jenny threw her hands in the air. ‘I give up,’ she said. ‘So how did it go with Bob the Builder?’
    ‘His name’s