Section 92 is out like a light
By the time Vernon got home after dropping Nsansa off in Newmarket and swapping cars he was exhausted. As he shuffled in the dark through the bills and flyers, those pathetic paper ancestors of spam, and locked the front door, he knew he had mixed feelings about being back. What would the final half of the Spring term hold for him? What would he do about Thailand especially as Nsansa had not allowed herself to be drawn on that resurgent issue?
On the mat was a note from the neighbour who’d kindly fed Chucky while they’d been gone. It seemed she’d left a dossier on his movements and habits. ‘…Day two looked morose and slept in the bath’. Mad cat.
Also on the mat was a letter whose handwritten script Vernon found vaguely familiar. It could wait another day. Tarkey maybe, or Jenny’s eccentric solicitor. He had tomorrow in which to investigate its secrets and he thrust it simultaneously to the back of his mind and into the letter rack on the bookshelf. Parking his suitcase and other luggage in the spare room and clambering into bed wearily after a brief encounter with the toothpaste, Vernon was out like a light.