Chapter Fifteen
The Parking Attendant
“I’m sorry” doesn’t always cut the mustard.
When Helen arrived, the laughing stopped; she looked anything but happy. Her “going shopping” clothes were splattered with flecks of blood, and she looked like she had been bawling her eyes out.
“You finally made it,” said Mavis.
Neff patted a log with a “still warm.”
We waited . . .
“Amy is a bit f****d off,” she said.
I handed Helen a drink.
“I went mental at a parking attendant.”
Silence.
“Forgot about the parking meter.”
She stared into the fire . . .
We waited.
She sipped.
“Go on,” said Neff.
“It’s not nice,” muttered Helen.
“Just tell us,” said Neff.
Helen drained her glass and talked of her day with Amy like it had happened to someone else, like a scene in a movie.
“We were looking a
