CHAPTER 17
Halfway through the following week I’d just got home from work and was at the kitchen sink, washing out a beautiful rainbow trout that I’d bought fresh from the supermarket along with some oven chips and a salad, the latter to salve my conscience about the chips, when my doorbell rang with a persistence that didn’t bode well.
I dried my hands and hurried down the stairs to find Mrs Munroe standing on my doorstep looking larger than ever, her face a puffy red wobbling jelly of agitation.
‘Mrs Munroe!’
‘Can I come in please, Annalee; I need to speak with you.’
‘Well, I was just about to have my dinner; can’t it wait until tomorrow? I could meet you in Sainsbury’s café then if you’d like, on my way home.’
Mrs Munroe hesitated, obviously not used to asserting herself but took
