She didn’t seem to be stirring, either, so I could sweet-talk Mrs Williams into making an extra mug of tea and take it out to her. But then I caught the smell of frying bacon coming up the stairs, and so did Twm Sion, who began to stretch so that both his front and back legs extended over the width of the bed. And I thought that if I dallied too long, he might claim the bacon before I did. Steffi could wait. Over breakfast – which included fried bread, something that had been outlawed by the calorie police in London years before – Mrs Williams told me that the racecourse was on farmland about two miles out of town to the north-west and that the jollities began at about 12 o’clock when the beer tent opened. She added, for no good reason, that Mr Williams ‘was a bit too fond of the pint pot sometimes’, and I put on my best ‘That must be terrible’ face when asking if there was any more of her home-made marmalade. The trotting went on all afternoon, but there were plenty of stalls and sideshows – like the model railway – for the kids, and maybe a traction engine or two, not to mention a cake stall womanned by the Daughters of the Dawn.
What do You think about Angel On The Inside (2011)?
