Stirling looked away, no doubt recalling Turney’s reaction earlier at the mention of Little Lowland. “We’ll find that out, tomorrow, Rich. For now, let’s go and have our baths.”
Boredom loomed large during that unbearably long evening. Turney did not possess a television, and the radio, which he tried to tune into a station – any station – appeared antiquated and unable to find anything except static. So, with nothing but the spitting of the fire to keep them amused, Richard sat and gazed into the flames. Turney worked at some mechanism for what might have been a farming contraption, whilst Dad had his head buried in an old newspaper, mulling over a crossword. In desperation, Richard decided to read a little from the book he’d bought at Lime Street, so he stomped up the stairs to find it.
