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Darla's out walking her pet rat along the main street through town. Good, it saves me finding out where she lives.
I catch up to her. "Hey, Darla."
She stops and fiddles with her hair.
"I was coming to see you," I say.
"You were?"
"Yeah, sure."
She pouts her lips as if waiting for a kiss. I give her a peck. She smiles. "What is it, honey?"
"You didn't get the message, from Father Shaw?"
"No," she says. "But then my phone's on charge and I was cutting Mrs Dixon's hair."
"That's what you do, cut hair?"
"Mobile hairdresser," she says. "What did you think, I was some kind of lush?"
"Course not," I lie.
The ginger Chihuahua on the end of the lead lets out an impetuous little yap.
"Take a walk with me," she says, continuing along the main street. "Prince gets snappy if I interru
