Sunday, and I was up early. Knowing what sort of day I faced, I toyed with a day off fitness, especially as my feet were still recovering from their high-heel ordeal, but a regime was a regime and I always felt energised, more alive somehow, afterwards. Wasting no time, I set off on my run on sunrise.
The air was cool and the sun, which was bathing the park in soft light as I cornered the end of Boronia Street, soon disappeared behind a blanket of cloud. I had my doubts it would reappear before lunchtime. But there was no sign of rain.
I barrelled along the trail, still processing the events at the funeral – Angie’s drunken raving, Bob’s aggression, Brendan’s brother Trevor’s dementia, and, to top it all, Barb’s affair with David. No new clues, but plenty of drama and the sense that one
