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Krimis & Thriller
Buch Leseprobe Broken Dove, L A Kent
L A Kent

Broken Dove

DI Treloar mystery series #2

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‘It started as an ordinary day. It was busy, yeah, and hellish noisy; everybody was amped, but what do you expect?’ Harry Stokes told the dude from BBC Spotlight.

   It was May 1st, half term and a gloriously sunny early summer’s day, busiest of the year so far at The Island Park ‘holiday haven’ near St Ives in Cornwall, where Harry was in his second week as a lifeguard. And it had been a normal afternoon until that one piercing scream cut through the cacophony of yelling and laughter, whooping and squealing which echoed around the heaving swimming pool complex, and then those words:

   ‘There’s blood in the water!’

   Harry reacted. He blew lengthily on his whistle and slid down from his ladder seat, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘OUT OF THE WATER! NOW!’ as if that were necessary as the water churned with thrashing bodies dragging themselves to the steps at the shallow end, the more athletic hauling themselves out at the sides. In no time the pool was deserted. Nobody was drowned, nobody was injured. Harry sighed with relief; he had done his job.

   Everyone relaxed: a hoax, a prank. Among the detritus floating in the abandoned pool they found a deflated rubber ring oozing red. As Harry said, it wasn’t very big, but hell you don’t need a lot of blood in water, just some prat having a joke with red dye or pigs’ blood.

   But then they discovered that two little girls had gone missing; and then they discovered that the blood was human.

   The owners of The Island Park were devastated. They’d done everything right, everything. They’d passed all the inspections; they had lifeguards trained with the RNLI at the Leisure Centre in St Ives; they had ‘swim-minders’ and they were getting CCTV coverage of the entire pool complex, it would be in place for the season, and nobody had expected this weather in May, nobody had expected all these people, nobody!




♪♪♪ Summer is a-coming in

Loudly sing cuckoo

Groweth seed and bloweth mead

and springs the wood anew

Sing cuckoo! ♪♪♪


Detective Sergeant Samantha Scott of Devon & Cornwall Police sang along with the car radio as she navigated the narrow lanes on a glorious afternoon. She smiled as she remembered the song from school. It was 1st of May, an early summer’s day full of promise, she was in love, and all was right with the world.

   She had left her home in Truro, Cornwall and travelled west down the A30 turning off towards Lelant then bearing left up Mill Hill, passing through dappled woodland to join the B3311 which runs between St Ives on the north coast and Penzance on the south. Here she turned left towards Cripplesease and Nancledra. As she crested a hill she indicated right and turned onto a narrow lane with passing places where a newly erected sign on the grass verge read ‘Lower Farm Holiday Cottages and Camping’, and beside it an older brick and slate sign read ‘Lost Farm Farm Shop’. After 50 yards a whitewashed farmhouse with roses around the trellised entrance appeared on her left with an old sign on its wall – Lower Farm. Outside the gate, draped along the hedge, was a hand-painted banner reading ‘For cottages and camping pitches apply at Farm Shop - 50 yards on your right’, and indeed shortly she passed a purpose built rustic building with a gravelled car park where a small refrigerated truck sporting Roskilly’s dairy’s distinctive playful livery was reversing. She was looking forward to the evening.

   After another couple of minutes she passed a rough track leading uphill to her right with a worn sign indicating Lost Farm and Higher Farm but she continued on. She opened the front windows of the car to a dusty airflow with the slight scent of cow manure and a stronger vegetal smell. An urban girl born and bred, she quickly closed them again, laughing. Finally she came to a gap in the hedgerow where a brightly coloured garland of paper flowers was strung across the opening: Lost Farm Barn, home to her boss, the object of her secret affections, Detective Inspector Félipe Treloar, and today the venue for the annual May Day Treloar family party.

   Samantha Scott was on a fast track with Devon & Cornwall Police having joined from Bristol University where she had attained a 2:1 in History. This had earned her the nickname ‘Samba’ –Sam B. A. - with some of her colleagues which she took in good spirit. Sam worked on major crimes in a small team led by Treloar which included D S Colin Matthews and a new member, D C Luke Callaway. She was expecting to see them at the party that evening.

   Sam turned in under the garland and drove onto a field where a large number of cars were already parked. She pulled up alongside a beautiful old golden Mercedes and climbed out of her Brilliant Red VW Beetle. The boot of the Mercedes was open and a portly balding man with a bushy grey beard was rooting about inside muttering to himself.

   ‘Hi Doc,’ Sam called out pulling two bottles of wine from the rear seat. Sam was a good looking tall woman with a shapely athletic build from regular visits to the gym, thick dark blonde hair and bright turquoise eyes.

   ‘Good afternoon my dear,’ replied Dr. Anthony Tremayne, police doctor and Treloar family friend, ‘somewhere in here Molly has secreted a bumper box of my cheese and pea pasties, but I can’t for the life of me… ah, yes here they are.’

   He lifted out a cardboard box and closed the boot. Just then a buxom middle aged woman with thick chestnut hair and a broad gap-toothed smile, dressed in bright floral shorts and a white man’s linen shirt, emerged from the side of a dilapidated stable block.

   ‘Jesus Christ Tremayne what are you doing?’ asked Molly Rackham, Tremayne’s wife good-naturedly. ‘Hello Sam, lovely to see you again. What is my idiot husband up to?’

   ‘God Almighty woman, why did you hide these pasties under all that rubbish?’ he huffed. ‘Well, I have them now so we can all go join the fun!’

   ‘Come along then, follow me,’ Molly said, ’Oh and watch your step Sam. Phil’s done wonders but the going’s still rather uneven underfoot.


The wonders Molly was referring to were a major refurbishment and conversion of a group of old farm buildings. The son of a Cornish farming father and a Spanish mother, Félipe Treloar had grown up in west Cornwall on the family farm near Zennor. Four years previously, he had acquired the Lost Farm Barn site from old family friend Edmund Maddox, owner of the Lost Farm estate which consisted of three separate farms: Lost Farm, Lower Farm and Higher Farm. The sale had not however been without the fierce opposition of Edmund’s elder son, Dylan, who managed Lower Farm with his wife, Hope. Dylan was intent upon the redevelopment of the Lost Farm holdings as tourist accommodation and a major entertainment complex.

   However, younger son, Rees, and daughter, Megan, had sided with their father in selling Lost Farm Barn and the surrounding buildings along with twelve acres of woodland, moorland and sloping pasture to Treloar. Further to Dylan’s disgust, this had been at a below market price. Since the sale Treloar has spent all of his spare time and leave on the conversion, doing the majority of the work himself. As Sam and the Tremaynes rounded the corner of the stable block they surveyed the fruits of his labours.

   ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Sam, ‘he’s done so much since I was last here.’

   They had emerged into a cobbled courtyard flanked by the stable block and two long sheds, one open on one side. Making up the square was the main building: Lost Farm Barn. This was in fact two barns connected by a pitch-roofed glass atrium. Today the yard was lined with huge coloured flags, depicting fish, flowers and wildlife, on extensible poles, and a mismatch of wooden and plastic picnic tables with bright umbrellas was ranged across the cobbles. There was the noise of laughter and soft music, clusters of people were eating and drinking and gangs of children chased about, shrieking.

   ‘I see Ochre’s been having a field day,’ Dr. Tremayne said.

   ‘Who?’ asked Sam.

   ‘No slacking, follow me with the goodies,’ Molly interjected. ‘This way,’ and she strode on through the crowds, heading for the barn.

   As they progressed through the throng, Dr. Tremayne pointed out a couple deep in animated conversation. The two women were of a similar age but very different in appearance. One was statuesque with masses of blonde hair piled and somehow secured on top of her head. She was dressed in a multicolour kaftan with rope upon rope of beads around her neck. The other could not have made a sharper contrast, being small and slight with cropped steel grey hair and dressed in a plain black shift dress.

   ‘The Amazon is Ochre Pengelly, local artist, writer and entrepreneur and the other, well that’s Phil’s eldest sister, Eva.’

   ‘I’d never have guessed; she’s nothing like Phil.’

   ‘No she takes after their mother, Inés, the two are very alike. You’ll see when you meet her,’ said Molly steaming ahead.

   ‘Look there’s John and Priss over there with Colin,’ she added waving at a tall thin man standing closely beside a beautiful black woman talking with a taller younger man who stood at a slight distance from them. John was Dr. John Forbes, local pathologist; Priss, his psychiatrist wife, Dr. Priscilla Forbes and Colin was Sam’s colleague D S Colin Matthews.

   ‘Well the gang’s all here,’ said Dr. Tremayne.

   ‘Give me that box Tremayne and I’ll take it through,’ said Molly. ‘You join John and the others. Come on Sam let’s deliver our gifts and find our hosts.’

   With that she grabbed the box from her husband and sailed on towards the barn with Sam in her wake suppressing a grin. Molly Rackham was indeed something to behold.




Detective Sergeant Tom Grigg was depressed. He hated child abductions, hated them. It was clear, at least to him, that the girls had disappeared, they hadn’t just wandered off, run away, got lost or trapped or shut in. No, some bastard had them.

   The two girls were nine years old and had met for the first time that week at the holiday park. One was local, daughter of a friend of a manager at The Island Park, one a visitor from Ludlow. They had both been at the Splash Pool adjacent to the main swimming pool without any parental supervision. It always amazed Grigg how people on holiday behave in ways they would never dream of when at home; leaving their children alone or with strangers, getting drunk, wandering about at night, driving under the influence. He hated the summer season: too many people being stupid, too many cars, too much of everything. God he was turning into a curmudgeon. His wife Lizzie said he had forgotten that when their children were young he allowed them out to play for hours on end, especially in the summer and when they were away on holiday. He pointed out to her in return, that that was then and this was now, a point she conceded without really understanding its relevance; sometimes, it definitely wasn’t worth the argument.

   The local girl was Lily Warren, the girl from Ludlow, Tamsin Thomas and they were both going to turn up dead, Grigg knew it, the parents knew it, the press knew it.


The Previous June - The Video


‘For fuck’s sake Dan don’t be stupid, I can’t do THAT,’ Dan screeched. ‘It’s fucking mental,’ he went on, looking first at the table and then the wire and books on the floor.

   ‘Of course you can, just imagine it, like he said, and try …….. it’ll be a laugh. Christ, we’ll all seem like idiots as well ……. stop whining and just give it a go,’ Dan replied then looked across to the cool looking guy in the larger group with long black hair and raised her eyebrows; he winked back quickly and surreptitiously. Her shoulder length blonde hair was in a ponytail tied with a long red ribbon which matched the bright red A-line skirt she was wearing that stopped short of her knees, even though the emailed instructions for the session had strongly urged jeans or trousers for everyone.

   Nor had she worn the loose fitting sweatshirt or jumper they had suggested, but the blue taffeta Donna Karen blouse with long sleeves that she knew didn’t show off her figure too much, just enough, and only the top two buttons were undone. Christ she’d even worn a bra ……….. and silver studs in her ears instead of the usual drops or big hoops. A slight waft of Gaultier Classique had followed her into the room.

   The trainers that had been suggested weren’t going to work with the skirt and she had gone with the pink Jimmy Choo block sandals - not too plain, but not over the top either, and comfortable for hours. She’d even toned down the make-up, only the simple matte gloss for her lips, no face make up to speak of, just the Sheer Horizon eye shadow; no Lash-bold or Brow-sculptor, not even in the small red patent shoulder bag she’d chosen.

   Dan limped across the large reception room, scuffing the floor with the inside of his left foot at the end of each step as it drew level with his right foot before sitting down. UPSTAIRS AT THE CHAPEL was printed in light grey at the top of the back of his black tucked in T shirt, in a semi circle curving upwards towards his straggly black hair. RETRO NIGHTS IN ISLINGTON was printed underneath in yellow in a semi circle that curved down. He wore black soled black Adidas hi-tops and bright yellow socks under a pair of cuffed and faded mid-blue Levis. Anyone seriously interested might guess that they were custom distressed 1947 501s.

   He had gone to stand near the corner of the room with the other three who were playing this evening’s session and as he looked at the square coffee table in the corner that was supposed to be the freezer, he shook his head. Dan turned round revealing the picture of Blondie’s Debbie Harry kneeling, holding a bulbous microphone close to her mouth, that was on the front of his T shirt.

   He ran his eyes over the cable that had been pulled out from the skirting board to run across the floor about five metres from the wall and the row of books lying flat on the floor that marked out the other shorter wall. The cable and the books, along with the real walls, were marking out the old family kitchen that Dan had paced out, at about eight metres by five, once he’d thought back, after being asked by Ivan to remember.

   Ivan was standing with the others, fourteen of them; they’d had to turn away another seventeen which was why the camera was being used - to video the session for the whole group to look at and discuss the following week. Ivan wouldn’t allow more than the eighteen, ‘and that’s pushing it’, he had told the organisers. Plain plastic chairs, some a faded red and some a faded blue, had been moved into three rows following the round circle discussion and were now across the corner diagonally opposite the freezer in ‘the kitchen’.

   The video camera was on a tripod in the fourth corner, recording to DVD. Ivan had set it up so that it was recording everything that happened in the rest of the room, including all of the kitchen and most of the currently empty seats where the rest of the group would be. He had been pleased with the F2.8 wide angle lens and the Sony professional camcorder. It was getting everything he wanted and had nearly paid for itself already with the fees generated by this session and next week’s discussion group.‘Right, brilliant,’ Ivan said, ‘now what about the table, how big and where, and the cooker, and where’s the fridge and washing machine?’

   After a couple of minutes the table was being played by beige coloured masking tape that someone had thought to bring along, with an actual chair on each side, the fridge by a large empty cardboard box and once Dan had remembered where the doors were - from the kitchen into the garden and out to the hall - he had marked their openings with more books, stacked four high so they wouldn’t be confused with the wall. Someone rushed off and found a large yellow plastic linen basket for the washing machine which Ivan had congratulated them on.


It was the Friday night ‘Friends of Omega’ session, and this was the occasional ‘special’ run by a professional outsider rather than the usual regulation encounter group run by one of the staff, often by the long black haired guy who had winked at Dan. This was a psychodrama ‘special’ and the Friends had been looking forward to it for weeks.

   Omega House is a residential therapeutic hostel for drug addicts and alcoholics; a large detached house, originally a pavilion of the Latchmere hospital, which evolved into the Richmond HM Remand Centre which was recently closed and the grounds sold off for private development. Convoluted changes of use and ownership had left the pavilion as a half-way house for selected inmates of the Remand Centre, before they were fed back into society, even though it was still owned by Surrey County Council. When the Remand Centre closed, the Council changed its use yet again, opened it as Omega House, and majority funds the operating costs.

   Publicity material says it is run by professional staff, several of whom are past addicts having been through Omega-like programmes in other therapeutic communities. Some important finance is provided by Friends of Omega, a registered charity, which raises money and practical support from a range of local and regional businesses and individuals - some of whom attend the weekly Friends’ encounter groups, for all sorts of reasons. Some go because they are basically nosey and just want to know what goes on in the house, some because they want to know how the therapy works because they have relatives or friends with drug or alcohol problems, and some go because they have their own personal issues.

   According to the literature a minimum annual donation of £350 guarantees attendance at Friends’ groups at least six times per year and any smaller amount is appreciated because it makes a real difference. A drop-in visit to the House can always be arranged for Friends to have a tour and meet with staff and residents.

   Omega staff occasionally invite professionals - social workers, probation officers, therapists etc - wanting to know more about the techniques used in the house, and sometimes those thinking of making a serious financial contribution are invited by the House Director or, with her permission, the Council. Sometimes group members are invited by staff wanting to impress friends, but this shouldn’t happen and most staff consider it irresponsible and an abuse of responsibility.


‘We’ve only got three hours,’ Ivan had said during the round circle discussion after everyone had spoken for two minutes, ‘so we need something clear cut and interesting, and I think you’ve got the something we can work with Dan.’

   Dan had not liked it, and glaring at Dan had hissed harshly, ‘this is bollocks’. Ivan had selected the three for the support roles after Dan explained more about the kind of situations frequently found at home, and the video had captured it all as Ivan had planned.


The Video - Part 2


‘Right,’ said Ivan after Dan had described his parents and the way they had behaved towards him.

   He had also spoken about listening to the way they used to speak to Dan, overhearing their conversations and how the two of them were treated differently.

   ‘When they died, life was loads easier, it was a relief,’ Dan went on, ‘they were bastards; I was always second best, not wanted, resented ………. I know they hadn’t wanted me but didn’t think an abortion was right after what happened, I used to hear them going on .......... I was always too much to think about, too much .......... especially getting between them and Dan. They didn’t care what I thought, were always going on about how fucking great Dan was and how useless I was ………. I used to hear them. Why this, why that, why the fucking other?! Impossible questions, you know, like ‘why were you born young man? Why don’t you speak like your sister? Why don’t you read more? What are you doing here now ………. shouldn’t you be outside?’ All polite like, why, why, why, all the time .......... either that or going on about Dan ………. Dan this, Dan that, Dan the bleeding other!’

   ‘What about you Dan,’ Ivan asked, ‘how were they with you? Your turn to think back now ........... what sort of thing did they say if you came in late or didn’t get your homework done, or got good marks at school, or didn’t want bacon and eggs for breakfast, or wanted to go away with mates for the weekend? What about sex, did you talk about it .......... with either of them, what about boyfriends, TV programmes, videos you wanted, loud music ...........? What about your adoption, did you ever talk about that? What about Dan, what sort of things did they say about Dan?’

   After listening for around fifteen minutes, which included four interruptions by Dan with embellished but carefully thought through corrections, Ivan broke in, ‘right, we’ve got enough to go on now, so here’s what you’re going to do.’

   Chris and Sophie, who were both in their late thirties, were not related, and whom Ivan had picked out at the end of the round circle session to play the father and mother, had been taking notes as they’d been asked to.

   ‘I want both of you to get into your roles right now. If you have any questions before we kick off please ask them in-role. To repeat, it is really, really important that you stay in-role until I tell you that the role play part of the session has ended, before we get back into the full group to discuss it; do you both understand and agree?’

   They both had. In the round circle introductions Chris had explained that he was in his thirties, was divorced with two early teens kids who lived with his ex and her new husband, and that he was a senior draughtsman for an environmentally conscious building cladding fabricator. Sophie told the group she was newly returned to work after getting her kids off to university and was training to be a probation officer. They moved closer together as they became father and mother to their adopted daughter Dan, and her three years’ younger brother, Dan.

   ‘Dan and Dan, I know this might seem hard but this is going to be set three years ago. Dan, you are thirteen years old and Dan you are sixteen; you are now in your roles. If you have any questions please ask them in-role, and please stay in-role until I say your role is over at the end of this part of the session.’

   Dan had curtsied, put her hands together behind her back, smiled demurely at Ivan and said ‘OK’ before looking across to the cool guy with the long black hair; she tilted her head slightly, and puckered her lips almost imperceptibly in a mock kiss. He nodded, smiled, and wagged his finger at her before she looked back at Dan as he said ‘right’.

   ‘Now,’ said Ivan, ‘it’s mid-morning on a normal quite warm sunny Saturday in early June. School is five or six weeks from breaking up, end of year exams and ‘O’ levels will be happening shortly. You’re going on a family holiday in late July but you’re not sure where yet. The holiday, near Bordeaux or Nice in France, on the Algarve in Portugal, or Tenerife in the Canaries - that’s a Spanish island but not far from Morocco in the Atlantic - has been the main topic of conversation over the last couple of weeks between mother and father. It has to be booked by this coming Tuesday to take advantage of a deal being offered by the travel agent; Dan and Dan, you are aware of this. Discuss this, and anything else that develops from it, in the kitchen over the next forty five minutes to an hour.’

   ‘I’d like you sit on the chairs in the kitchen, spend the next five minutes thinking about these issues and what else might come up, what you might say, and make notes to help you keep on track. When I say ‘go’, father and mother stand and begin talking. Dan and Dan stand over there in the hall and go into the kitchen when you feel ready. Try not to leave it longer than 10 minutes, and don’t forget that it’s Dan we’re trying to work with mainly here, and please ………. think about what you would normally have been doing on a Saturday morning, and planning for the afternoon. Now .......... we want this to be as realistic as possible so raise your voice if your role requires it ………. swear even, if you feel like it, and stand if you like, but NO physical violence, let’s just see where this goes. If any of you would like a time-out for any reason, questions, uncertainties etc, just raise your hand and say TIME-OUT. If I think a time-out is needed, I’ll interrupt and say so.’

   ‘The rest of you,’ Ivan said looking back at the larger group, ‘please look, listen, and take notes. We’ll discuss any points you want to raise afterwards. Please, no talking while they’re in role. Thanks. Right ………. go, I’ll tell you when the five minutes thinking time is up.’

   Five minutes later Dan and Dan were standing outside the kitchen and mother and father were sitting at the table.

   ‘So, shall we book the Algarve or not?’ snapped father ‘I want to ring them today and pay before we lose it, I like the idea of Portugal and the house is close to the beach and town, so there’ll be loads for us to do and the clubs and cafés look good for Danni, so we’ll all be happy, OK?’

   ‘Yeah right, brilliant .......... and what am I supposed to do when you two are baking yourselves silly in the sun ………. stay in with the air-con blasting and read no doubt, or go see if Eddy Jordan still goes to the beach café up the coast with the sea breeze?...... Christ!’

   ‘Oh come on it’s not going ……,’ father was interrupted as Danni walked in.

   ‘Bloody hell you two, I’ve told you I can’t go anywhere, even if Portugal does sound cool, I can’t be away for that long. If we have to go, why can’t we go just for a week? I could live with that, as long as you’ll let me go to that club we looked at and Joni comes with us, she reckons her mum and dad will be OK with it.’

   Dan limped towards the kitchen and there was a sharp intake of breath from the group as he stumbled when his left foot scuffed against the slightly raised edge of a carpet tile. He hesitated and looked thoughtful, then reached down and picked up one of the books that was marking the door frame - it was a hardback - weighed it, then turned round and limped back again with the book clenched tightly across the spine in his right hand.

   ‘Oh, bloody hell what’s wrong with everyone? .......... OK we’ll take Joni, as long as her mum and dad pay and she brings her own spending money, but it’s two weeks and you’ll bloody well enj .........’ Father was cut off by Dan shouting from the hall.

   ‘Oy ………. more sun!!? I don’t want to go on bloody holiday, I told you,’ Dan whined as he limped back and through the door, ‘I’m going with Craig to Center Parc, haven’t you spoken to his dad yet? .......... you said you’d do it ages ago.’

   ‘Oh, come on Danny .......... why?’ mother said, ‘what do you want? You know you can’t be without Danni. You don’t really know Craig, why are you saying that?’

   ‘Look,’ father said, ‘why do you want Center Parc when you can have a lot more fun with us?’

   ‘Well he’d be able ……,’ Danni was interrupted by mother.

   ‘And you’ll be outside not shut up with the TV all day, and the swimming will be outdoors. Why can’t you be like normal kids and ……….’ mother was interrupted by father.

   ‘Besides, you’ll like it, and we’ll be together as a family, that’s what we all want isn’t it?’

   ‘Well, I think I’d like to try and ……….,’ Danny was cut off by father again.

   ‘So what is it about Craig anyway, why, when he’s not even your friend?’

   ‘I’ll get the orange juice,’ mother said as she stood and walked over to the fridge, ‘who wants crisps?’

   ‘So why? Why Craig? .......... Why not us? ............ Why?’ Father asked.

   ‘Anyone?’ asked mother. She looked at Danny as he limped over, then turned away from him and flinched, just before he slammed the book he was holding against the top of the fridge.

   Danny turned, his face contorted, and blustered through gritted teeth.

   ‘Well ………. I wonder why that might be, why? Why do YOU think?’ Danny had said before picking the book back up and limping back to the table; then standing, glaring at father.

  Father looked concerned and glanced first at mother and then Danni before turning to look at Ivan and shrugging his shoulders in question, as if to say ‘what now?’

   Ivan, looking unconcerned, simply leaned forward in his seat, nodded, held out his right hand with forefinger extended and rotated it three or four times away from his body, and mouthed ‘carry on’.

   ‘Well, why? ............ come on, why?’ Danny blustered, ‘come on, I really want to know ……….    Why?’

   ‘Christ, what’s going on ………. can’t you just tell him,’ said Danni, ‘what’s the big deal anyway?’

   ‘Oh for goodness sake ………. come on then, but tell us about Craig ………… seriously, why, what’s made you change your mind?’ asked father, ’Why don’t you want to come with us?’

   ‘I haven’t changed my mind, I never wanted to go away with you ………. I told you, I said I wanted to go to Center Parc and that Craig said that was OK; ages ago when you first talked about it ……….. what’s up with him?’ Danny growled looking at Mother, ‘You said you’d talk about ……….’ he said before father butted in with a patient but raised voice.

   ‘Oh come on Danny, why, what’s the matter, why don’t we ask Craig to come with us? Why haven’t you asked him .........? Why don’t you ring ………?’ Father said before Danny cut him off angrily.

   ‘For fuck’s sake I don’t want to go with you on holiday, I want to go ……. bloody hell what’s the matter with you for Christ’s sake? You’re bloody mental and you never listen to me or treat me like a real person it’s all Dan, Dan, Dan and you, you, you, you bloody bastards,’ Danny said, his rant getting louder, as spittle flew at father, ‘I’m fucking sick of it, I’m going out and I’m NOT GOING TO FUCKING PORTUGAL OR FUCKING FRANCE OR ANYWHERE WITH YOU, YOU MENTAL FUCKING TOSSER’ and Danny hurled the book overarm at Father’s head and it hit his nose and left eyebrow before he could move and then Danny was taking long even heavy strides towards the door and then through it and Danni ran after him. Ivan and the rest of the group sat stunned, staring in wonder at the empty doorway with mouths open and there was silence until the front door of Omega House very loudly slammed shut.

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