It was around four that afternoon when Melanie arrived in Nottingham. She was going to catch the train, but she had told a sob story to a trucker which worked out just as well. No stops or waiting at other stations, just a straight ride through.
The guy had asked about the mask. Naturally, she had spun him a yarn about how she had been disfigured by an acid attack. The guy bought it well enough, but she could see his curious looks from the corner of his eye. Wondering how badly she was burnt or was she just telling a load of bull to get a free ride? He was cheerful enough – the fat guy was in his mid to late forties. His black hair was now thinning but still covered his head without looking ridiculous. He wore blue jeans and a denim shirt over a white t-shirt. She had to admit he looked p
