Free Falling Sideways by Tom Holt Page A

to be getting up?’
    Why the hell would I want to be—? He remembered; something about Ritz crackers and Normandy butter. ‘Good idea,’ he heard himself say. ‘Right, I’ll do that, then.’
    â€˜Splendid. And while you’re there, there’re a few other things you could get. I’ve made a list.’
    She shoved a piece of paper under his nose. It was shorter than the Old Testament, though the handwriting was so small that physical size was a misleading criterion. As it flashed by, he caught sight of a few words and phrases; gruyère was one, and fresh asparagus and plovers eggs and smoked salmon paté, irish not scottish . Expensive stuff like that. There was more on the back, but he didn’t get a chance to take a close look before it was whisked away.
    â€˜That ought to tide us over for now,’ she was saying, ‘at least till Sainsbury’s opens. We can leave the clothes and stuff till after lunch.’
    He blinked twice. ‘How do you know about Sainsbury’s?’ he asked.
    She smiled at him. ‘While you’re out,’ she said, ‘would it be all right if I use the phone? Just local calls,’ she added. ‘Mostly.’
    â€˜Of course, help yourself,’ he replied. ‘Well, I’d better be going, then.’
    â€˜â€™Bye.’
    As his front door closed behind him, he couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d passed that way. In a sense, it had all come together far, far better than he could possibly have expected. He hadn’t been arrested. He wasn’t lying in a heap on the floor, with a shattered jaw and three broken ribs. He’d actually talked to the girl of his dreams. Furthermore, she’d actually smiled at him and allowed him to run errands for her. This time yesterday, he’d have sold his soul for that.
    (Why did he have an uncomfortable feeling that that was precisely what had just happened?)
    Anyhow, all the seemingly insurmountable problems had melted away like chocolate in a blast furnace; and if they’d been replaced by other, subtler problems, wasn’t that the nature of things, with the proviso that a change is always as good as a rest? High time he stopped cribbing and acknowledged his good fortune—
    â€˜Morning,’ said a voice behind him; and Mr Van Oppen, his new neighbour, hurried past him down the stairs and vanished through the front door before he had a chance to reply. In his haste to pursue, David very nearly tripped over his feet and broke his neck.
    By the time he had the front door open, there was no sign of Mr Van Oppen. He took a deep breath and headed up the road to the shop—
    (Indeed. How did she know there was a Spar shop five minutes’ walk away?)
    As he’d anticipated, they didn’t have most of the things on the list she’d given him. (Bizarrely, they did have fromage frais and Parma ham.) While he was at it, he slung a carton of milk and a sliced Hovis in the basket for himself. He didn’t have enough cash on him to pay for the stuff, but luckily they accepted cheques for twenty-five pounds or over, so that was all right.
    On the way home he noticed that he was walking more slowly than usual. Curious: the girl of his dreams was waiting for him, but he was trudging along like someone on his way to a meeting at the tax office. He thought about that for a moment; then, as the implications started to seep through, he made a conscious decision not to think about it any more, and turned his attention to other aspects of the situation, in particular the matter of the John brothers. Now, then: pigeonholing for a moment the I’ve-gone-crazy hypothesis, was it possible to put together an explanation for what was going on that accounted for the three of them plus the girl?
    Try this. Brother A (Mr Dean), having seen him hanging around the gallery gawping at the painting, had checked him out and discovered that he had a