17
Don Craven’s head smashed against the side window as his brother skidded into the turning.
“Ow! Watch where you’re goin’ – that fuckin’ hurt.” Don sat upright and rubbed the side of his head where it had just made contact with the glass.
“D’yer wanna drive?” his brother asked, sneeringly.
“Well I can’t do a worse job than you. Slow down, fer f**k’s sake.”
“Stop whining – we’ll be ’ome soon,” Colin reminded him. “Then you can go to bed and wank yerself off thinkin’ about that Polly down at the pub.”
Don blushed red, in spite of himself. It was true that Polly was stunning, and as they were a similar age, he had fantasised about taking her out since the moment he first laid eyes on her.
But the truth was that he did not have the courage to ask her.
For one thing, there was that hu
