Free Guns Of Brixton by Mark Timlin

they?' She wiggled her fingers and shut the door so
that he was in darkness again, apart from the reflection from the snow outside.
He slumped back on his pillow and blew out a breath. Jesus, he thought. What am
I letting myself in for here?

Chapter 7
        
        Mark
woke early. He rolled out of bed, checked the stairs for Martine and slipped
quietly to the bathroom in his shorts. He didn't want to engage in another
conversation with her and her sharp tongue without at least a cup of tea inside
him, and preferably with his clothes on. He locked the bathroom door, made his
ablutions, had a quick shower, shaved, and went back to get dressed. When he
drew back the curtains he saw that it had snowed heavily in the night. The
garden below looked beautiful with only a few bird and cat prints to spoil the
pristine white.
        He
got dressed in yesterday's clothes, ignoring the fitted wardrobe which held God
alone knows what fashion mistakes from the past and went downstairs to the
kitchen. It was just before nine by his watch. Chas was in situ, watching the BBC news. The kitchen was warm and smelled of cooked bacon.
        'Morning,
Chas,' said Mark.
        'Morning,
Mark,' replied Chas. 'Sleep well?'
        'Not
bad. It was weird.'
        'I expect
it was. Tea or coffee?'
        'Tea
I think,' said Mark, unused to being waited on.
        'Any
breakfast?'
        'Maybe
later. Who's about?'
        'Just
you and me so far. Martine will be down soon and when she's ' gone to work I'll
take the boss up a cuppa.'
        'How
is he, Chas?' asked Mark. 'How is he really?' 'He's dying.' 'So it's true.'
        'Course
it is. He wouldn't lie to you about a thing like that. It comes and goes.
Remission, then bad times. Remission again. You ever known anyone with cancer?'
        'No.'
        'It's
a filthy thing but he's coping with it. Seeing you's cheered him up.'
        'Why
didn't he get in touch before?'
        'Scared
you wouldn't come.'
        'I'd
walk over hot coals for that man.'
        'You
haven't seen him in years.'
        'You know
why.'
        'You
should've done.'
        'I
know,' said Mark. 'Don't you think I feel bad enough about it without you
getting the cosh out?'
        'OK,
Mark. But I thought it should be said.'
        'And
now you've said it.'
        'No
hard feelings I hope.'
        'What
do you think?'
        'I
think it's good to see you back.'
        'And
I think it's good to be here.'
        'Fair
enough,' said Chas. And Mark knew that things were all right between them. Just
like old times.
        There
were footsteps outside the kitchen and Martine entered, interrupting their
conversation. Today she'd dressed warmly, with fur- lined boots.
        'Will
you look at the weather?' she said. 'I might get lost in a blizzard.'
        'Not
much chance of that with that nanny you're wearing,' remarked Chas. Martine's
overcoat was bright scarlet with a fur collar. Red hair and red clothes often
didn't work, but with Martine they did. In spades.
        'Do
you like it?' she asked, doing a spin. 'It's new.'
        'Lovely,'
said Mark.
        'What
about breakfast?' asked Chas.
        'I'll
get something at work.' 'No you won't. Take off the coat and sit. I'll get you
some eggs.'
        'Oh
Chas, don't fuss. I was just leaving.'
        'Don't
"oh Chas" me. You're not going out on a day like this without
something inside you.'
        'I'll
be late.'
        'Blame
the weather.'
        'He's
just like Mum used to be,' said Martine.
        Mark
laughed at the memory. She was right. Hazel had never let them out in the
morning without something to eat, despite their protests. 'Breakfast is the
most important meal of the day,' he said. Just like Hazel.
        Martine
squidged up her eyes at him. 'Don't you start,' she said. 'It's bad enough with
Chas bossing me about.'
        'I
wouldn't dream of bossing you about, Martine,' said