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Back The Ringmaster Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Cover
  2. The Ringmaster
  3. Contents
  4. Prologue
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. Epilogue
  72. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  73. Copyright

‘No, in fact he’s been really good-humoured and doesn’t seem to get offended at my evasion tactics. Which, I might add, is annoying too. It’s like he’s just waiting for me to come round to the fact we’re perfect for each other. And that’s his thoughts not mine,’ I added, before she made a rude comment.

Maggie just sat and smiled at me with that knowing look.

58

My head felt like a spaghetti junction of intersecting, over- and underpassing streams of information, swirling like some rush-hour maelstrom. What I needed was to get out on the road, and pace it out, let the drum of my feet and the thrum of my heart pumping get some sense of rhythm, some order to it, get the streams of data moving in parallel, so I could see where they nudged up against each other, where the connections were. Overlay the emotional toll of the last week and it was like a fog had descended on the network and I was feeling my way on my hands and knees. No wonder frustration was eating away at me. I needed to run and as soon as I got home, I was going to indulge.

Running for me was a magic elixir that tuned out my conscious thoughts, but let the subconscious work in time with my footfalls. Rhythm, order, time. But I had to get home first. I wandered back to where my car was parked the long way around, seeing as a freight train had been so kind as to accidentally remove the pedestrian footbridge that everyone used to cross the shunting yards. I wasn’t stupid enough to play chicken with the trains to avoid a longer walk, unlike some idiots. I meandered along the path behind our gorgeous old railway station, reminiscent of a gigantic gingerbread house. It was frivolous and completely over the top and the thought of a city of dour Scottish Presbyterians creating a building of such frippery always made me smile. No wonder the tourists flocked to it. I strolled around, while having wistful dreams of a work parking space – like that would ever happen.

As I approached the car, I could see something stuck under the windscreen wiper. No one else had one, so I wondered how the hell I could get a parking ticket here. It was all-day, no time restrictions. I was pretty sure my warrant of fitness and registration were up to date, so surely it couldn’t be an instant fine for something as dumb as that.

I tugged the paper out and opened it up, wondering how much money I was going to get stung for this time.

You can’t hide from me you murdering bitch.