Chapter Seven
While Sheryl was picking through the shopping on her drive, Conway, still in his candlewick pyjamas, was frying up a bit of bacon and black pudding.
Conway was a man who never forgot, a man who clung onto a grudge like a drowning man with plank of wood. A man so eaten up with anger from the past that he no longer made sense. He lived on Rennies, black coffee and meat, which stirred around in his innards like a bullet in motion with nowhere to go.
That morning, his bullet was working overtime. That morning, as he opened up The Argyll Advertiser, he saw something that would make him shake.
NEFERTITI TAKES ON THE BIG BOYS
Our Local Middle Eastern connection will hit the big time next week as she shimmies for the American Wrestlers. ‘It was all my Rodger’s idea,’ says Nefert
