TRACEY STUBBS WAS IN the middle of a big wash when they called – getting the kids’ school uniforms and sports kits ready for the new term.
The house was as much of a tip as it had been the last time they’d called. In the kitchen, a pile of grubby white shirts and blouses awaited their turn in the washing machine. It was currently going through the spin cycle and making one hell of a racket. A tumble dryer was also on the go.
Rafferty was always amazed when people on benefits seemed able to afford all the gadgets and pay the sky-rocketing bills that resulted. He didn’t have a tumble dryer because they ate money, yet young Tracey was clearly able to afford one. He wished he knew how she did it. And, with a wedding still to pay for, he’d have asked her, were it not for Llewellyn’s presence
