“Cool. Oh, and guv?” She threw a grape in the air, caught it between her teeth. “You’re driving.”
“Cool. Oh, and Bev?” The grin took ten years off him. “We’ll take the train.”
New Year’s Day
Byford left the Rover in its customary spot, preferring to walk the final part. It was early morning and below freezing with a biting wind; dirty snow lay here and there. His eyes watered, which meant his first glimpse was blurred. Rapid blinking cleared the haze so that as he approached the angel came into sharper focus. She was no longer white and the marble was badly chipped. The once-beautiful face was pitted with age and erosion. Byford had removed the moss and lichen many times. It was one of the reasons he was here.
This was his eighteenth pilgrimage to the baby’s grave. As far as he knew, he was now the only person who visited, brought Fay flowers.
Not this year.
Intrigued, he halted, peered closer, then continued the short walk. He took off his hat as he knelt on the frozen earth. There was no message, no name, no indication from whom the gift had come. As he stroked one of the tiny pink flowers, his lips formed a smile of sorts.
It was bitterly cold out here, but cacti were hardy and resilient. The big man was pretty sure this one would survive.
Author’s note
Several spooky incidents occurred during the writing of this book. For instance, I alluded in the narrative to a real and shocking crime that happened nearly thirty years ago and – out of the blue and within twenty-four hours – there was a development that made every national news bulletin and newspaper in the country.
This and one or two other happenstance instances made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Were they mere coincidences? Or portents? Or... what? They may mean nothing at all but for what it’s worth, I share this one with you...
Rainbows, real and fabricated, are featured throughout the story. On the day I finished writing Baby Love, I printed the first hard copy. Chapter thirteen was coming off the printer when I turned to look through the window of my office. There, spanning a blue-grey sky was a spectacular rainbow, so perfect it could have been painted. A minute later and I’d have missed it. The timing, the chance of that was – to me – stunning. What a story, I thought. Who’d believe it? So I raced downstairs and took a photograph, just to prove it wasn’t journalistic licence.
And even now every time I look at that rainbow I get goose bumps.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title page
Copyright page
Contents
Dedication page
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
New Year's Day
Author's Note