TWENTY-ONE
Dawn Anderson had finished her circuit of the duck pond in Grafton Park, running hard towards the steeper path which led up to Grafton Stands, a circle of old oak trees which had stood at the highpoint of the park for centuries. Some local ‘historians’ claimed the copse had been the site of witchcraft rituals, or druidism, human sacrifice or even an alien landing site (the most likely reason)
But to most people, Grafton Stands was a simply a pleasant place to sit on a bench in the sunshine and enjoy the peace of the trees, of the birdsong, and the apparent sensation of being out in the country rather than close to the centre of a bustling industrial town.
The circle of trees surrounded an open area about forty yards in diameter. In the centre of the circle stood a statue of a
