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8

The next day I ended up somewhere completely different to where I had intended to be.

I should have been playing golf with Grahame Moore, but it was raining.

Don’t Fancy Paying Good Money To Get Wet,

 Can Stand In The Garden And Get Wet For Nothing

was the content of the text that I had received at half-past seven that morning.

          I had planned on visiting Zoë’s grave later in the day but I was already up and dressed and Kimberley had gone across to the Cobra Mist complex on the early walk-on ferry for an audit meeting.

          The grass percolated water as I walked to the grave of my wife, dead eighteen months to the day.  I placed a bunch of flowers so that it lay, yellow and purple, her favourite colours, against the still shining marble.  I paused

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