Of course Reuben’s calculations had not taken into account the three-car pile-up on Petrie Terrace that brought the traffic to a standstill. He wove his way through the line of cars, only to be stopped at the head of the queue by the gloved hand of a policeman. His mobile phone rang in his pocket. He knew it was Carlene, and he was glad of the excuse not to answer it. By the time the traffic had cleared and he arrived home, it was dark.
Carlene whipped open the front door. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ he said, rushing past her into the house. He had a shower and dressed in record time. Carlene was sitting on the living room couch with a face like thunder.
‘We’re already late,’ she hissed. ‘You’d better have a f*****g good excuse.’
Reuben felt a jolt of shock -
