Free The Last Word by Hanif Kureishi Page A

Ruth said, ‘Is it all right, please sir, if we pick up Whynne, me sister? She’s helping us out today.’
    ‘Of course, Ruth,’ he said. ‘The more the merrier on this fine warm day in the country with the sun coming out and it not raining yet.’
    ‘Thank you ever so much for coming to our house. You like Julia, my daughter, sir?’
    ‘She’s kind and affectionate. You’ve done a good job there.’
    ‘Thank you, sir. I take that as a high compliment, coming from you. A man so high, a doctor even. You do prescriptions?’
    ‘Only philosophical ones.’
    ‘I have a son too.’
    ‘You are twice blessed. What does he do?’
    ‘He frightens people.’
    ‘Professionally?’
    She gurgled. ‘Scares the frigging daylights out of them.’
    ‘In what capacity?’
    ‘Security. Don’t they have that in London?’
    ‘Yes, we have so much of it we’re frightened all the time.’
    ‘Good job you’re down here. He’s lucky, my son.’
    ‘In what way?’
    She said, ‘To have work which suits him.’
    ‘You can’t say fairer than that, Ruth. Clearly a fulfilled life lies ahead of him despite these hard times.’
    ‘Have you met him?’
    ‘I don’t think I’ve had that privilege.’
    ‘You will.’ She went on, ‘Do you think he could work up in London one day?’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Would you help him, if you could? You must know people who need security.’
    ‘Indeed.’
    ‘I’d be ever so grateful. These children had no proper father. The men down here are no good.’
    ‘Apparently men everywhere are no good, Ruth. But ambition in a young man is a wonderful thing.’
    Far from living, as Harry had imagined, in flower-strewn Aga-heated cottages in the verdant enchanted English countryside, the part of the town Julia’s mother directed him to was composed of run-down ugly council houses – many of them boarded up, seemingly abandoned – and shabby graffitied streets. The people looked pasty-faced, slow-moving, ill-kempt, both dozy and violent. Clearly the fathers had scarpered, or been driven out by unemployment, or by the women. Harry seemed to have discovered an island run by teenagers: a semi-violent English poverty and hopelessness unrelieved by years of government investment. You wouldn’t leave your car here, let alone your family.
    When the sister emerged, she also sat in silence, her lunch in a plastic box on her knee. To avoid any unnecessary enquiries, Harry dropped off the women halfway up the track. Looking up, as he handed Ruth the £20 loan she had solicited for ‘expenses’, he had the impression, though he couldn’t be sure from such a distance, that Mamoon was standing at his bedroom window, adjusting his collar, his hooded eyes seeming to lift and sparkle with mischievous interest.
    Harry hurried into the kitchen to make coffee. Liana looked at him, but said nothing. Soon after, Ruth, her sister, and Julia arrived and began pulling up the carpets and plunging their arms into the toilets. Harry would go to the barn and continue work, for another day, on Peggy’s letters and diaries.
    But he went to his room first, to change. While he was doing so, he heard a knock on the door.

Seven
    ‘Harry?’ Mamoon’s gentle tap alarmed Harry, and he dropped the papers he was holding. ‘I need to see you.’
    ‘You do, sir?’
    ‘Oh yes. Can we talk later this morning? Will you be available?’
    ‘Talk? That’s why I’m here, sir, getting under your feet like vermin, as you put it the other day.’
    ‘See you in the library, my friend, insh’allah . I’m looking forward to it.’
    ‘You are?’
    ‘Why not? There’s much to say.’
    This was a surprise; Mamoon had never before solicited Harry’s company. He either wanted to put the record straight about something, which was unlikely, or Harry was going to be kicked out.
    Distracted, tired and guilty after his exertions with Julia, Harry was also concerned he hadn’t got far with his most recent questions to Mamoon, which were