Chapter Nine
Conway sped his Fiesta through Glasgow, and by the time he was at Loch Lommond, he had worked up enough speeding fines to stop him driving for ten years. He stopped at Luss and opened his sandwiches. Bits of cold fry up fell onto his lap, but Conway didn’t notice, instead he stared out of the window, lost in dark thoughts, while a seagull circled above.
The seagull was persistent; it pecked and chased any other bird that came near. Conway looked down at his cold breakfast on his lap; he was so wired he couldn’t even eat. He poured himself a coffee as the bird planted itself on his bonnet and stared in.
Conway revved up the engine and reversed. The unfazed bird hovered, and Conway, a little impressed with his persistence, emptied his breakfast on the tarmac. ‘Just you wait,
