Forty-ThreeFinale, the beach, Whitburn on Sea.
The law is harsh, but it is the law.
THE MOON IS FULL, LARGE AND LUMINOUSLY INCANDESCENT, rising above the horizon, shimmering silver across the swelling sea, the sky is crystal clear and a warm soft breeze blows across the sand dunes. The tide is retreating but the sound of the distant waves rolling onto the beach can still be heard, a gentle susurration, soothing and reassuring. Still wet sands glisten and ripple silvery in the moonlight and a series of small pools shimmer like a string of luminous, brilliant pearls.
Charlie staggered along the beach, unmindful of the moon and the shimmering sands. He stopped to take another drink only to find the bottle empty, 'Fuck.' He savagely throws the bottle away, vaguely hearing a crash as it smas
