NINETEEN
‘Not all is as it seems, not every decision is black and feckin’ white… if it takes a man a week to walk a fortnight… who swings from bough to feckin’ bough…’ Jack detected a certain irritation in Mandy’s questioning voice. ‘…take my knife and shoot, ask the blind man, he saw it too, is the ditch dry or full?’ she paused and Jack thought that was it; he was wrong. ‘Jack, what is all that bollocks, and who is Della?’
The taxi was pulling up at their house. It was Jack’s house, but slowly it was feeling like her home too. Mandy had struggled at first but was pretty much there now, and she allowed herself a wry smile as she noted the dread on Jack’s face; he knew they would continue this conversation inside, and could see him desperately racking his memory banks for answers.
Insid
