Chapter Eleven – A Rival for His Heart
The trail of destruction she found in the morning was all too familiar. Front door left half open, shoes casually tossed off in the hall and what appeared to be the “We’re Open” sign from a Harry Ramsden’s wedged into the fireplace.
The insistent barking of Jessie alerted her to his presence in the kitchen. And there he was, laying flat out, half face in, half face out of the doggy bowl. The smell of second-hand ale and burger sauce was unmistakable. Next to him lay his jacket, a mangled Greggs pasty poking out from the right hand pocket.
But what was that wedged in his hand? Her heart sank when she prised open his fingers. It was a ticket for two on the Peasholm Park pedaloes.
“I knew it, you’ve been out with that Frankie Flintlock again haven’t you?” she bellowed.
The sound of his snores, muffled slightly by Winalot, told their own story.
Extract reproduced by kind permission of Ms Davina Masterson