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“Ok! Let’s have a gander at some of your paintings then Daniel.”
Swept along by these events, Judith found herself following the men downstairs and climbing into the back of Baxter’s beige Jaguar with Da
“You’re welcome to everything except the sleeping scene,” Da
“No, that’s the best one. I’m having it in honour of our deal,” Bob countered, triumphantly.
“Oh no…I’m not letting you steal everything from me!”
Bob affected a perplexed look. “How’s seven hundred and sixty thousand pounds theft?”
“I shouldn’t be giving you anything…I’m already sparing your liberty!”
“Can’t you see I’m giving you an opportunity to get out of all this with your dignity intact? Da
“Take it...take anything you want.”
Da
CHAPTER: 10
When Judith arrived back at the apartment, Fin had just returned from the clinic, where he’d provided his fourth consecutive, opiate negative urine sample. But there was no Da
By December, Da
Da
The following May — the same day Bob and Herman were finally officially acquitted of Carina Curran’s attempted murder — Da
After a drink and nibble from the Mediterranean buffet, which degenerated into a full on olive and feta-cheese fight, Da
“What’s it to you?” He stared through Da
“Well, I’m here to help you.”
“Oh is that right big man? What do you want me to do, kiss your butt or something?” His audience roared with laughter.
“No, I…”
“Aye you do. This isn’t about helping us. It’s all about your middle class ego. We shouldn’t be in a position where we’re beholden to ‘charitable’ individuals like you.”
“I quite agree,” Da
“Listen, I couldn’t paint ma shoes and I never want to.”
“Ah, so you want to learn about writers?”
“Learn? Listen pal, there’s nothing you and your ilk can teach me about ‘literature’. Shakespeare, Cervantes, Hardy, Dostoyevsky, Joyce, Kafka, Carver, Kundera, they’re the only existence I’ve ever been able to afford. I don’t need to be taught how to read, I need to be enabled to write.”
Da
“How can we enable you to write then?”
“By getting me out of that hell hole I live in and allowing me some peace. They reckoned that J.K Rowling wrote in crowded cafes. Well, I’d like to see her even write a note to the milkman at our place, with my sister’s kids ru
“Tell me about it. I had to share with a brother and four sisters”
“Yeah, in a nice big house I bet?”
“No. Possil.”
“You’re from Possil? Get away.”
“What made you think I came from a big house?”
“I don’t know, the way you talk — all bourgeois like.”