Angie reflected on the mystery presented to him by Jo Jums. The Chairman of Planning had been murdered. So, he had not wanted to play cricket or talk about what he had found out about the planning application? As he considered his response a man jostled him on the crowded concourse, said excuse me, and moved on. Angie dropped to the floor to collect his dislodged platform ticket and then, a woman fell upon him muttering something Angie could only describe as, sweet nothings. His dad had explained this to him already, how sometimes women are apt to fall at his feet (tripped up by his size fifteen feet Mandy had said, but Jack had not heard, being a big-footed deaf t**t) and Angie presumed he had inherited this animal magnetism for women folk.
‘Help me,’ the woman pleaded.
‘I have no time
