The house was in darkness when I arrived home. I hit the garage remote control and drove in. Lindsay's car space beside mine was empty. My prediction was correct. Or maybe it wasn't so much Hugh's stamina—maybe they were enjoying a long afterglow. Perhaps they'd fallen asleep on the desk, or the carpet, or wherever.
I showered, changed into an old tracksuit and returned to the garage. I had converted the far space of our three car garage into a workshop. I opened the door and switched on the light. Lindsay referred to it as shantytown—shelves along two walls crammed with every tool imaginable and planks of varying sizes propped against another, two benches forming an L shape, both covered in tools, nails, bits of wood, tins of varnish and paint and sandpaper. A fine layer of sawdust cov
