She’d returned from work around six, by which time Frankie was already ensconced in his car, ready to listen in to her every sound. The evening had started off well. Janice seemed in a buoyant mood, which he liked to think was due to his little phone calls. There was the sound of the kettle being boiled, clattering in the kitchen, and singing along to the radio. She’d phoned Celia and left a message: “Hiya, love. Make sure you’re home for seven. I’m making us a lovely chicken dinner. You know I can’t stand the sight of the things after spending all day mopping up their guts, but it’s your favourite and nothing’s too much trouble for my girl.” However, as the evening wore on and Celia didn’t arrive home, Janice had graduated from cups of tea to glasses of booze. She’d left several more messages, each one more rambling and uptight than the last. She warned Celia that she was late, demanding to know where she was, pleading with her to phone back.
What do You think about The Truth About Celia Frost?
