16
Colin Craven swung the old delivery van from side to side as he tried to negotiate the rough track that led up to Thorndike village. He always preferred taking the woodland path, despite the rocky, pot-holed, branch-strewn condition of the road. There was far less chance of their being seen on this particular stretch, and that, in itself, had its advantage.
Beside him in the passenger seat, his brother Don fiddled with the knob on the van’s antiquated radio. Finally, he reached the station he had been looking for, and raucous R&B blared from both speakers.
“Whoo, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he cried, taking another drag on the spliff held between his lips, before passing it to his brother.
Colin placed the can of lager he was drinking between his knees, and took the spliff.
