treatment of José. But she must have put the camera there for a reason.
She has an indistinct recollection from her studies about the placing of fetish objects within circles; but the detail eludes her. She’s tired and the hammock is comfortable. Why not shut just her eyes…?
1 7 North West London
When eventually, a few minutes after eight, the police leave the house, Suzie is still in bed, with every intention of staying there for another couple of hours Thankfully, they didn’t want to interview her. At this time in the morning, belligerent is a good mood for Suzie. Allan makes her a fresh cup of tea and takes it up for her. She grunts, he kisses her on the cheek, she grunts again. He would love to slide back into bed with her, to be there when she finally comes to life. The trouble is that work is just beginning to pick up and he reckons that in this game the way to crack it is to be totally reliable. Not cheap. Not fancy. But reliable. Friendly, good humoured and utterly reliable. And if that means working on a Saturday morning, then that’s what you do. And the job he has on this morning is one he’s enjoyed, even if it has taken longer than it should have. One of his mates, Dave, a joiner by trade, has bought a large end-of-terrace house in Bounds Green ‘in need of attention’; and Allan is installing a solar heating system. At least this bloody useless government is offering hefty grants to anyone who adds a renewable energy source to any major house improvement.
The roof panels are fixed, the new tank and controls are all in place. It’s part-time, return-a-favour-for-a-friend work, this, squeezed in between the major jobs; a few evenings here and there, a couple of hours at weekends when Suzie’s working on her stained glass. He’d have finished it off last night but one of the by-pass valves was faulty and he has to pick up a replacement on his way over to Bounds Green and get it all set up and working before Monday. He leaves a note for Suzie saying he’ll be back for lunch and apologising for borrowing the car without asking. His calmness sometimes exasperates Suzie. But to Allan it’s perfectly logical. You get angry about things when it’s going to make a difference. Get angry with the insurance company if they don’t cough up, get angry with some bugger nicking your parking spot; but the van theft is history now. There’s nothing he can do about it.
18 Clifton Hamden, Oxfordshire
After a fitful night’s sleep, Mark wanders down to the kitchen in his dressing gown. The old rosewood wall clock that came from his parents’ house says ten to seven. He’s boiled the kettle and is about to make a pot of tea and some toast when his mobile rings. It’s Jay Porter. At this time? Mark’s needed in London that afternoon. Angela Walker has demanded a meeting at Andrew Linden’s house in Stoke Newington. He doesn’t have to get there until half four, but he’s irritated all the same. He wanted a full weekend with Stephen, although it does at least mean that he’s back in favour with Mrs Walker.
He takes a mug of tea back to the guest room, reads through the report he was working on last night, then showers. When he returns to the kitchen, Joanna has surfaced. He’s pleased to see her dressed in what she calls her gardening clothes: jeans, and an old light green cotton shirt. It means she’s planning on being at home for the morning.
“ You look nice,” he says.
“ I look scruffy.”
“ Scruffy looks nice.”
“ Flirt.”
“ Am I allowed to flirt with my wife?”
She doesn’t answer that. “Have you had breakfast?” she asks.
“ Not yet. What I have had is a phone call from Jay Porter. Angela Walker’s poisonous little lap dog.”
Joanna’s stays where she is, saying nothing, leaning back against the work surface by the sink, coffee cup in hand, as Mark explains about the meeting.
“ It’s a bloody nuisance,” he says.
She sighs; a rumbling of distant
She has an indistinct recollection from her studies about the placing of fetish objects within circles; but the detail eludes her. She’s tired and the hammock is comfortable. Why not shut just her eyes…?
1 7 North West London
When eventually, a few minutes after eight, the police leave the house, Suzie is still in bed, with every intention of staying there for another couple of hours Thankfully, they didn’t want to interview her. At this time in the morning, belligerent is a good mood for Suzie. Allan makes her a fresh cup of tea and takes it up for her. She grunts, he kisses her on the cheek, she grunts again. He would love to slide back into bed with her, to be there when she finally comes to life. The trouble is that work is just beginning to pick up and he reckons that in this game the way to crack it is to be totally reliable. Not cheap. Not fancy. But reliable. Friendly, good humoured and utterly reliable. And if that means working on a Saturday morning, then that’s what you do. And the job he has on this morning is one he’s enjoyed, even if it has taken longer than it should have. One of his mates, Dave, a joiner by trade, has bought a large end-of-terrace house in Bounds Green ‘in need of attention’; and Allan is installing a solar heating system. At least this bloody useless government is offering hefty grants to anyone who adds a renewable energy source to any major house improvement.
The roof panels are fixed, the new tank and controls are all in place. It’s part-time, return-a-favour-for-a-friend work, this, squeezed in between the major jobs; a few evenings here and there, a couple of hours at weekends when Suzie’s working on her stained glass. He’d have finished it off last night but one of the by-pass valves was faulty and he has to pick up a replacement on his way over to Bounds Green and get it all set up and working before Monday. He leaves a note for Suzie saying he’ll be back for lunch and apologising for borrowing the car without asking. His calmness sometimes exasperates Suzie. But to Allan it’s perfectly logical. You get angry about things when it’s going to make a difference. Get angry with the insurance company if they don’t cough up, get angry with some bugger nicking your parking spot; but the van theft is history now. There’s nothing he can do about it.
18 Clifton Hamden, Oxfordshire
After a fitful night’s sleep, Mark wanders down to the kitchen in his dressing gown. The old rosewood wall clock that came from his parents’ house says ten to seven. He’s boiled the kettle and is about to make a pot of tea and some toast when his mobile rings. It’s Jay Porter. At this time? Mark’s needed in London that afternoon. Angela Walker has demanded a meeting at Andrew Linden’s house in Stoke Newington. He doesn’t have to get there until half four, but he’s irritated all the same. He wanted a full weekend with Stephen, although it does at least mean that he’s back in favour with Mrs Walker.
He takes a mug of tea back to the guest room, reads through the report he was working on last night, then showers. When he returns to the kitchen, Joanna has surfaced. He’s pleased to see her dressed in what she calls her gardening clothes: jeans, and an old light green cotton shirt. It means she’s planning on being at home for the morning.
“ You look nice,” he says.
“ I look scruffy.”
“ Scruffy looks nice.”
“ Flirt.”
“ Am I allowed to flirt with my wife?”
She doesn’t answer that. “Have you had breakfast?” she asks.
“ Not yet. What I have had is a phone call from Jay Porter. Angela Walker’s poisonous little lap dog.”
Joanna’s stays where she is, saying nothing, leaning back against the work surface by the sink, coffee cup in hand, as Mark explains about the meeting.
“ It’s a bloody nuisance,” he says.
She sighs; a rumbling of distant
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