The Whispering Gallery
“The cries of a rag-and-bone man, trying to steal a march on his competitors, woke him. Horse-drawn vehicles had been banned from the West End since January but, away from the centre, they continued to impede traffic and leave rich deposits that were quickly shovelled up by gardeners and allotment-holders. Johnny lay there listening to the sparrows chattering in the eaves.
The nightmare was always the same. He had hoped he’d finally managed to lay it to rest – the intruder had stayed away since ...January – but he’d obviously been fooling himself. The dream’s paralysing dread still lingered, heightening his ferocious hangover. He had a head like Birkenhead.
He got up stiffly and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The wiry, white-skinned figure looking back at him from the mirror could have been a stranger. The swelling round his left eye had subsided, but was turning a magnificent shade of purple that matched his bruised ribs. He still couldn’t breathe through his nose. He removed the sweat-soaked bandage from round his head.MoreLess
The nightmare was always the same. He had hoped he’d finally managed to lay it to rest – the intruder had stayed away since ...January – but he’d obviously been fooling himself. The dream’s paralysing dread still lingered, heightening his ferocious hangover. He had a head like Birkenhead.
He got up stiffly and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The wiry, white-skinned figure looking back at him from the mirror could have been a stranger. The swelling round his left eye had subsided, but was turning a magnificent shade of purple that matched his bruised ribs. He still couldn’t breathe through his nose. He removed the sweat-soaked bandage from round his head.MoreLess
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