Luke drove south for eighty miles, using A roads rather than the motorway. If by some stroke of bad luck he was spotted, a motorway was one of the worst places in the world to find yourself trapped on. He located the old brickworks in the gathering dusk. Leaving the Citroen behind a broken-down wall, he made his way on foot through the derelict site looking out for gypsy patrins.
The old brickworks covered a large area, too far from big towns and main roads to be an attractive proposition for housing. Ruined buildings were dotted about among heaps of spoil, rusting machinery and expanses of puddles. A feral tomcat hissed at him from the gaping entrance of a broken drain. He mimicked the call of an interested female and the animal cautiously approached him, allowing him to stroke the sensi
