EIGHTEEN
Del-Boy and Della sat around a table, contemplative. Jack had ants-in-his-pants, Jimbo was strutting the strange Gravediggers bar, phone glued to his ear, animated, yet conversing in a hushed tone, every now and then conspiring with a similarly strutting Abe, who made his own calls. Both gave Martin old-fashioned looks as he paced with them.
Martin had one or two ideas of his own; after all, Stansted Woods was one of his favourite walks and he knew of the sawmill, and reckoned he knew it better now he had had a post-coastal chat with Cabbage. Whilst Jonas prepared food for everyone, Cabbage had sneaked Martin into the yard, and although it was chilly and they would have preferred the comfort of Cabbage’s basket, needs must, and Martin found he was rather partial to a knee-trembl
