She has the same look about her, or so it seems when she tilts her cheek just so and the tides shift, shrink in on themselves so ashamed by her disappointment. Uncanny, how similar she seems reflected beside me.
The official report blamed ‘a torrential downpour’ for Ichabod McGuffin’s horrific suffocation beneath two hundred tonnes of hillside.
However, there were rumours about his mother, and the hairs on Eddie’s arms rose as he pulled up outside old lady McGuffin’s bungalow. He shook the feeling off and fetched the shopping from the backseat.
‘Such a good lad,’ she smiled, opening the door. She watched him set the shopping down.
‘Yes,’ she said again, and handed him her payment. ‘A good lad. Just the sort we want round here.’