Flush with cash, he hovered up cocaine for breakfast and Maker’s Mark for lunch, so jittery from dope and hung over from booze he seldom bothered to...eat. He had gained thirty pounds in prison. Horace refolded the slacks. ‘Was me, I’d keep ’em. You’ll lose some weight once you’re out. Give yourself something to shoot for . . . getting back into those pants.’ ‘I’m leavin’ the past behind. Keep ’em for yourself.’ Horace admired the slacks then looked sadly at Marty. ‘Aw, you know I can’t. I’ll. I’ll have to take you to the Masterton Gallery in Woodchester one day whilst you’re with us. Barnaby, I think that would do you good too and I’m sure you’d both enjoy it. Perhaps we could call in for tea at the Chapter Coffee House. It’s not quite up to the standard of Betty’s in York but they do some pretty good cream cakes – not that I get to eat many.’ The conversation continued gently as they drove through the lanes from Woodchester to Anne’s home in sleepy old Attleton Market, a small. More

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