CHAPTER 37
The pattern of my life was set for the next year and a half, and to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. I worked hard in the week, putting in the hours at both the training centre and the local haulier, Mossman’s, that Dad had passed my care onto. There is more to driving a freight lorry than sitting behind the wheel, and Mossman’s gave me a decent apprenticeship in those extras. Their fitters talked me through the basics of maintenance, so that I could make a half-decent guess at the cause of a problem, and perhaps solve it without needing to call out a fitter or tow truck, but that wasn’t all of it.

CHAPTER 35
We left the Farmyard in light rain, heading north again through the maze of roads and lanes towards Aberystwyth. I wondered where we would end up on this circuit, knowing only that it would probably involve some time with Graham.

“Dad?”

“Aye, duck?”

“We going back to that do in Cumbria?”

CHAPTER 33
That was going to take some planning, but we had time, and the Hairy Stotty was calling, a rally far more to my taste than the Midgesummer had been. We made our way down there with the van’s windows wide open so as to catch a cooling breeze, which didn’t work too well, and on arrival found that the ground was baked absolutely solid. That lasted right up to the Saturday evening, when the weather broke.

CHAPTER 31
The other side of the ‘dinosaur' was lit up in the orange of the sunrise, and so were several other hills showing to the right of its northern slope. The hill we had passed on the way in, a chaotic pile of loose rock from the road, showed a grander flank, holding what looked like a hollow above steady slopes of green dotted with white sheep. People were already moving on the campsite, with several cooking bacon of porridge on little stoves.

“Morning, love!”

CHAPTER 29
They featured on the front page, as well as in what seemed like half the rest of the paper. It was a style of reporting I had already come to recognise and despise: a story too shocking for their readers, see pages 2-26 plus special colour supplement.

It wasn’t quite as bad as that, but there was a lot to read. Mam set out a couple of camping chairs, Rosie sitting beside me as I read. Dear god, and I had thought my time with the bastards had been a taste of hell. It seemed I had been given an easy time, compared with what I read.

CHAPTER 27
I slept well that night, even though my dreams were a little confused, and the dawn’s light had been replaced by a Summer morning when I eventually emerged from the tent. Mam and Dad had slept in the van, which felt a little strange at first, but it was simply another stage of my healing and growth.

From the day of our meeting, I had slept between or by them, except in our winter house, and now I was being given my own space, possibly as a recognition of greater maturity but maybe as a hint that my life was now a safe one.

placeholder

CHAPTER 26
Life went on. It sounds trite, but I came to realise that my decision to choose continuing to breathe had been made when I went out of a window in Runcorn; what followed was simply fine detail. It didn’t make the process of living any easier, but the days or hours I managed to get things into some sort of perspective kept me on some sort of even keel. In the end, I simply had to look at the two people who had rescued me for validation.

CHAPTER 24
“Up you get, Duck! Time to get rolling!”

The beginning of March, and my bag was already packed, along with my bedroll, stowed in the van. I found the bathroom empty, to no great surprise, so I pulled my nighty off for a quick wash of the various bits Ken referred to as “Face, fork and pits”, as well as doing my teeth.

CHAPTER 22
There is something I have always liked about a sleeping bag, and in later years I discovered the same feelings for small tents. It feels nest-like, a small space entirely one’s own, where everything feels close and warm. I luxuriated in my bag for a little while after I woke, but I needed a wee, and there was only so long I could put it off. In nighty, dressing gown and socks, I did the necessary before creeping down the stairs and past the living room door. From behind it came the sound of more than one snorer. I filled the kettle, and then decided to set a pan of water boiling so that there would be plenty for the tea that I knew would vanish almost as soon as it was poured.

CHAPTER 20
As I slipped out of the back door, Ken coughed for attention, and I dropped both carrier bags in shock.

“Where were you going, Deb?”

CHAPTER 17
We spent two more days in our little place in the woods, which sat on a very quiet road in a corner of Kent that somehow seemed to escape the hurry and bustle of the outside world despite sitting so close to three main roads. Years later, I would read of the man who lived secretly in his tent, hidden away in the bushes of the central reservation of the dual carriageway leading past Southampton’s railway station, his life passing in parallel with that of the commuters streaming past each day.

CHAPTER 15
“What’s a diddycoy, Loz?”

“Ah, love, it’s one of those words that has two meanings. Two uses, really. See, Ken’s Romany, mother and father. Me, it’s just my Dad, so that makes me a sort of mongrel, and the old Romany word means mixed blood. That’s one meaning, and one use of the word. If you were ours by blood, that is what you would be. The other meaning is also tied in with how it gets used, and it’s just another insult. They throw the same thing at the tinkers, and most of them have got big houses in Ireland as well as bloody big caravans.

CHAPTER 13
The ‘pernackity’ turned out to be a sort of hotpot, sliced potatoes in a rich gravy; the ‘stotty’ was a flat, round piece of bread. In later years, the closest equivalent I could find was ciabatta. It had the same dense texture and weight to it, and I was profoundly disappointed to discover that many ‘stotties’ sold in chain stores were actually just a flatter version of sliced white bread.

CHAPTER 11
I was officially no longer a Rally Virgin, with the badge to prove it, so I was feeling ten feet tall as we rolled into the site entrance, which was in a field next to a motorway. There was the usual collection of hairy people at the gate, all with the badges and patches now so familiar to me, many in the woolly hats that were almost a membership badge in their own right.

“Loz?”

“Yes, love?”

“Is this an MC thing?”

CHAPTER 9
I didn’t sleep that well, as there was music until very late in the morning. I couldn’t call it ‘early’ as it had passed beyond that. We were still up and out by eight o’clock, though, and after Loz had inspected my injuries, I dressed, in the longer skirt this time. I went to fill the kettle, but she stopped me.

“Time for a little lesson in manners, love. Don’t worry, you’ve done nothing wrong! It is just that we have a few ways of doing things you need to learn. Grab three mugs for us”

CHAPTER 7
Gandalf put a couple of fingers into his mouth and gave a piercing two-not whistle, something I had seen on screens large and small but thus far never in real life. A couple of children of around my age came running up, grinning with excitement.

“Rosie, Sam: We want two pints for Badger and his missus, and a hot choc for Debbie here”

The boy laughed.

“Two pints of what, Dad?”

CHAPTER 5
We were still naked when Ken came back in, his figure shadowy through the shower curtain.

“Got you this, duck. Clean clothes are on the table. Pair of flip-flops in her size as well, as long as those were her shoes”

He handed a safety razor and a pair of scissors over the top of the curtain rail, then blurred again as he moved away, calling back, “I can change the filter tomorrow, so don’t worry unless it clogs”

LIFELINE LEAPFROG
As discussed following the first two parts, I am slicing away a chunk of the early part of the book to avoid distress. There is a huge story I want to write, but it has to start somewhere, and that place involves Charlie Cooper. This offering bypasses that with a summary, and then leads into the story at a later date.

I intend to include a fuller beginning when I publish commercially, but just not here, not now.

Anyone familiar with my work will know exactly what Cooper is, and how he likes to spend his quality personal time. I left Billy about to meet him and Don, and I need not spell out what happens over the next three years of care home life. A summary:

Much abuse. Much of what you read in ‘Job’ and ‘New Beat’. Two escape attempts by Billy, in both of which they meet a friendly police sergeant. I have described the bars on the windows. Billy marks his shirt cuff with the width of the bolt, and when he is awaiting return from the police station again, he finds he is left in a storeroom for once, rather than a cell: there is a prison visitor inspection in full flow, and Sgt Friendly does NOT want him seen or spoken to. There is a lost/stolen bicycle in the room awaiting disposal. It has a saddle bag, and a flat cycle spanner slips into his underpants after a quick check against his shirt cuff…

Now read on.

CHAPTER ONE
Dad had his belt ready, yet again.

“Billy boy, this going to stop, one way or the other”

Four strokes that time, me bent over the arm of the settee so he could get a decent swing in. At least he left my trousers on while he hit me.

“Room. Now. Or you get another one”

CHAPTER 85
I left Chester with a real sense of hope, while wondering what else DI Mulready had in the way of evidence against Linehan or O’Sullivan. I suspected that my team had not been the only ones digging for things other than gold. There would still be a long way to go for Ben and Peter, but I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to end badly.

CHAPTER 83
Chris had really worked hard at his planning, I realised, as our ‘two tribes’ crossed paths at the halfway point. Annie had been sent off with Darius, so I had Eric with me for the first part of the evening. I decided as we started our walk that I wouldn’t pump him for info, but me and good intentions have never been the firmest of friends.

“When did you decide this trip, Eric?”

CHAPTER 81
Rhod may have been glad to see me, but he had an odd way of showing it, which consisted of dumping the cat into my lap after I had slumped into the settee, followed by recounting what seemed like a century of playground gossip, largely involving children I had never heard of. Blake was at work, so Dad and Mam had driven boy and beast back to our place, together with a big pot of cawl. My larger boy was home at six, and after we had worked our way through a chip supper (I was willing neither to cook nor let Mam do so), the three of us were alone. Three, plus Fritz, who was snoring. Blake set a video going, something about climbing in North Wales he had picked up on our trip, and left boy and cat to their own devices.