Grace turned her beady eyes on d**k and crossed her arms, “Oh, I bet. One of these days I'll get to the bottom of it and both of you will be sorry, very sorry indeed.”
A couple of days later, on Friday afternoon, there was a knock at the back door. As d**k was sound asleep in his armchair, Grace stopped polishing cutlery and went to answer it.
“Hello Mrs. Thomas,” beamed a red-haired youth of about ten or eleven, “Me Dad says that Mr. Thomas's bike is ready for him.”
“Well, well, Brian Ashley,” Grace smiled, recognising the young man immediately, “Come in lad. Would you like a glass of homemade lemonade?”
The boy nodded, “Yes please. That would be great.”
Grace reached into the cabinet for a glass and began pouring out the drink from a pitcher.
“Here you go,” she said, handing over t
