“Excariot,” his name escaped her lips as if to remind her that he was back here with her, in the present.
But Wallace was no longer a problem: she now had to deal with his alter ego. Cushioned by a pile of old clothes and a sleeping bag she had spotted by chance on the top of Wallace’s wardrobe.Īs she pulled at the sleeping bag’s zip, images of her ex-boss, the aggressive elderly bookshop owner who had turned out to be a psychotic prison guard turned rogue from another planet, ran through her mind. So she had tried to make herself comfortable on the hard wooden floor. It smelt of old men and that, mixed with the crazy seventies duvet pattern, was enough to put anyone off climbing in. In the early hours, when she had returned to the flat above the bookshop, she had decided not to sleep on the bed. Luckily she found herself face to face with the sleeve of a strangely familiar, yet very ugly, tweed jacket. Valerie Saunders opened her eyes tentatively, unsure of what would be waiting for her. Or turn round the badge of their party or leader, This book is dedicated to Alzheimer’s Society, the UK’s leading care and research charity for people with dementia, their families and carers. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of G.L.Twynham, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The moral right of the author has been asserted.Īll characters in this publication are fictitious andĪny resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
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