FOUR
‘Nick?’ We were swooping briskly through shallow pools of streetlight, somewhere among the bombsites and gap-toothed, battle-weary factory buildings that clung round the edges of Croydon Airport.
‘Mmm?’
‘What happens now – for Fernanda, I mean? If she found him?’
‘The police may interview her again if they’re stuck and hoping she’…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to This Itch of Writing with Emma Darwin to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.