Free The Last Word by Hanif Kureishi

dictator—’
    ‘And? Do the two dictators fall out?’
    ‘But another dictator enters the picture . . .’
    At that moment the door opened and a tragic-looking woman with a swollen eye, which was turning blue, hobbled into the room and stared about distractedly, as if she’d never seen it before. Harry looked up and realised he had seen her before – last night, of course. But somewhere else too. What was this house called, Déjà Vu?
    ‘You’re late, Mum,’ said Julia.
    ‘Morning, sir,’ said the woman to Harry, almost curtseying, but also appearing to shiver. ‘Roof.’
    ‘Sorry?’ said Harry, looking upwards. ‘Damp?’
    ‘Ruth,’ said Julia. ‘My mum.’
    Ruth said, ‘Would it be all right, sir, if you gave us a lift to the house? We all overslept due to illness. Mrs Azam can be very harsh and vile.’
    ‘She can?’ said Harry.
    ‘She slapped my Julia.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Kitchen. I had to physically stop my Scott going down there. After all we’ve done, years upon years of all sorts of things, long before she was here, treating us like servants, she reduced our wages and said, “I know you don’t know what’s going on out there beyond the haystack, but these are hard times.” You should see their champagne bill. She an’ Sir get through three bottles a night. What can you do, if you want to work?’
    Harry continued to blink at the woman until he could assemble all the information he had and place her. Julia’s mother Ruth worked in the house for Liana and Mamoon; she had served him supper not long ago.
    ‘No problem,’ he said uneasily.
    The mother left and he was finishing his food as quickly as he could when Julia said, ‘They like you, Sir and Her. I hear them talking. They don’t even notice me.’
    ‘What do they say about me?’
    ‘He caught your description.’
    ‘What description?’
    ‘On the phone. When you called him Saddam Hussein and said he had a face like a soiled arse.’
    ‘Ah. Did he comment on it?’
    ‘He repeated it slowly, like he was taking it in. Then he said something like, you’d never be a novelist, and the biographer is the vulture – no, sorry, what was it? – the undertaker, of the literature world.’
    ‘Thanks, Julia.’
    ‘Who was that you spoke to? Was it your girlfriend?’
    ‘Yes. Alice Jane Jackson.’
    Julia said, ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she? Liana has heard she is. Is it true she’s coming to see us?’
    ‘Yes. No. Perhaps. She looks at magazines and chews her hair. She’s not keen on literary people and their talky talk, their going on about reviews and prizes and stuff. She doesn’t think I should have taken on the book. Negative, eh, but at least she’s protective.’
    ‘Harry, trust me, I can help you more than you know. I can keep you informed.’
    ‘You can?’
    ‘I catch onto a lot of things, going about.’ Here she hesitated. ‘I think I might have something, and could find it. Some writing of Mamoon’s I got hold of. Notebooks. They would be useful.’
    ‘How did you get them?’
    ‘It was a couple of years ago. I found them in the barn when Mamoon asked me to tidy up.’
    ‘There’s a lot of damp stuff in there, packed away, rotting. Apart from me, no one’s looked at it. Why did you take and read private material?’
    She tapped her nose and grinned. ‘I wanted to learn something.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Flicking through, I saw my name in one of them. And my mum and Scott.’
    ‘I see. Why?’ She said nothing. He said, ‘Can I look at them?’
    ‘I think so. Sure.’
    ‘You’re so cute.’ He kissed her head and said, ‘Please keep me up to date when necessary.’
    She kissed him on the lips. ‘Keep me satisfied.’
    ‘Will do. I’m your man.’
    ‘Are you, Harry? I’m so pleased. I can’t believe it.’
    ‘It’s just a saying, Julia, not a contract.’
    Julia’s mother climbed up into the front of Harry’s 4 × 4 with her bag on her lap. Julia got in the back and put her headphones on.