Chapter 5 Mr Hodgkin I looked out of the window a few times that night, but I didn’t see the flashing light again. According to the research I’d done, smugglers often made regular journeys, so perhaps there would be another delivery later in the week. I’d keep an eye out for it. Trouble is, I was so tired the next morning because of all the time I’d spent looking out of the window that I overslept and missed breakfast. Gran wasn’t too pleased. ‘You’ll just have to see to yourself, Amy,’ she said. ‘I’m off out in a few minutes.’ ‘No problem, Gran,’ I told her. ‘Have a nice day.’ I plugged in the toaster and took the bread out of the bread bin. Then, to our astonishment, Mr Hodgkin shuffled in. His black hair was all tousled, he was wearing faded black jeans with a scruffy grey sweatshirt and looked like he hadn’t washed or shaved yet. ‘Any b-b-breakfast g-g-going, M-M-Mrs C-C-C?’ he asked.
