the trip home

Charles and Kath had sat in the pub until closing. Charles had nursed a single scotch for the entire evening, whilst his sister had devoured most of a bottle of gin and yet surprisingly was not that worse for wear.

“Perhaps you should lay off the drink a bit Kath? That bottle seems to have hardly touched the sides.” Charles said.

“Yes, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. A life without drink, is hardly a life at all.” she replied.

They were now walking down the village street, towards the guesthouse they were booked into that evening.

“Charles, that letter was written and sealed on your birthday, your actual birth day. This is getting serious now, surely you need to involve the police?”

“Kath, this is blackmail pure and simple, there are no ghosts in 1953 for Christ’s sake. This is the nuclear age and this is some Johnny upstart, who thinks they can get something out of me. Well they’ve got another thing coming, I can tell you.”

Despite being in his 60’s, Charles was still a sinewy aggressive man. Two wars and a career in intelligence had taught him a thing or two. The game was afoot.

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