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The little Metro sat in a layby, other cars occasionally flashing past. Celia was on her third cigarette, while Slim, who had felt it polite to keep her company, was teasing down a Marlboro, wishing she preferred Lights to Reds.
‘I used to wash dishes in the Crown in Penleven,’ she said. ‘Mother was always against it, said the place was full of local riffraff, but I insisted. I just wanted to be out of that house sometimes. I was fifteen. The kitchens shut at eight back then and I usually got let out about half nine. Sometimes I’d stop into the bar for a drink with the regulars if there were any about. It was early March and a Wednesday, our quietest day of the week, and there was no one in the bar, so I just headed home. Sometimes a regular would give me a lift, but if not I just wal
