I almost didn’t go; poor Hobie was lost to me now. After I’d identified his body as the person I knew as Herbert Stanley, I wanted it all to end. But the little blonde detective insisted on picking Stu and me up. Her grandfather was with her, a very old man. God knows what he made of us, the derelicts from the park.
God knows what he made of us, the derelicts from the parkI’d washed as well as I could in the public toilets, shampooed my hair and cleaned my best jacket and skirt. I’d bought stockings from the 7/11, and I thought I looked presentable enough. It was a short church ceremony, and then out to the graveyard. I was just waiting for it to be over, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself with tears.
Then I saw the girl, Hobie’s granddaughter, and I had to tell myself not to stare. I ke
