Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
Neil placed his gloved hand on Edgar’s shoulder and even though he took it as an infringement of his privacy and his natural instinct was to stiffen, he maintained a relaxed posture.
‘I really am grateful to you for taking my son under your wing, Edgar.’
‘I’m sure he’s just a nice lad in need of a little guidance.’
‘He couldn’t get an apprenticeship anywhere else. God knows I tried just about everywhere. No one would have him even though he’s got an IQ of 143. It’s his autism holding him back. I had to fight to get him taken on here as an apprentice but as soon as I managed it you were the first person I thought of to place him with.’
‘Thank you.’ Edgar looked at Wren and then at his father. ‘First impression, Neil. He seems rather talkative for someone with autism,’ said Edgar.
‘Some autistic kids clam up,’ said Neil. ‘Some are chatterboxes. Some are in between. Wren’s a chatterbox. It’s not only that you’re head and shoulders the best at your job in the whole abattoir, it’s your temperament,’ he added. ‘There’s not many people who’ve got the patience to look after an autistic kid.’
‘I’ll teach him as best I can, Neil. I’ll protect him from the loudmouths in this shithole. If anyone wants to get at Wren, they’ll have to get past me first.’
Neil held out his hand and Edgar shook with him. He read the elongated glance that Neil threw at him as he eyed him up, drank in the silent admiration of his muscular bulk.
‘Don’t worry about him. He’ll learn a trade and I’ll build his confidence. Leave him with me. I know you’re busy.’
‘Thank you, Edgar.’
Edgar watched his supervisor walk away and turned to face Wren’s back.
‘Are you ready, Wren?’
Wren turned in what felt like slow motion.
‘You look tired, Edgar.’ Wren’s eyeballs shifted left and dithered right at speed, again and again. ‘You look tired. Very tired.’
Edgar pictured the scene in the bolting room. The world around him disappeared and, for a moment, all that he could see were cattle queuing up to die.
‘Wren, I am as fresh as a meadowlark at dawn.’
Bang. Down she goes. Lights out. Slump.
The reality of the end of all sentient life in a bitter nutshell.
‘Follow me,’ smiled Edgar. ‘I can tell, we’re going to be great mates.’
5
9.28 am
Driving past the University of Liverpool’s nursery on Grove Street, on the way to the Royal Hospital’s mortuary, Clay felt a tangle of nostalgia for the time when she dropped Philip off there, before he went up to big school.
Mothers and fathers walked hand in hand with small boys and girls, and all the children were well dressed against the cold and the rain.