"We have to amputate his hand, the bleeding's out of control!"
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"Isn't there any family member to sign?"
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"He won't make it anyway, just do it…"
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"NOOOOO!" Henry wakes with a scream. He frantically pats his limbs, breathes a sigh of relief, then rolls onto his stomach. Sunlight reflecting off his bed sheets tickles his eyes, fully awakening him.
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"What time is it? Why's it daylight so fast?" He checks his phone, then exclaims, "Bloody hell, it's ten!"
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He leaps out of bed and rushes to the bathroom, then dashes towards the wardrobe. He rummages through a pile of scattered clothes, pulls out a black shirt and throws a grey suit over it, grabs his bag and sprints out.
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"Hello, Theo," he calls out. Then, he notices, "Bugger, I didn't press the call button."
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He dials. Theo answers, loud chatter booming through the speaker.
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"Hello, Henry. What's the matter? I'm in the middle of a deliberation."
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"Sod your deliberation, you agreed to take me to the airport!" Henry shouts.
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"Hold your horses," Theo moves away from the noise. "Did the pigeons finally get at your attic, or what? Today is Wednesday, you idiot, your flight is on Saturday."
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"Huh!" Henry composes himself. "I swore it was Saturday, put on odd socks in my haste, haha." He laughs.
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"Listen, has Maggie called you?" Theo interrupts.
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"No. Why?"
.
"About Bentho, she wants us to keep him."
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"No need for that, Harold will look after him," Henry answers.
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"Frankly, it'd be a brilliant idea, but it's not up to either of us. Anyway, cheerio for now; we'll talk later," Theo hangs up.
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Henry lights a fag. His empty stomach coughs in protest.
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"Blimey, you're awake too."
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He walks into The Tasty Mug café and sits by the window. A short waitress approaches. "What can I get you, sir? We've got burgers, bangers, jacket potatoes, baked beans..."
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"Sausage and beans, with a cappuccino, please," Henry replies.
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A new update notification pings on his phone. He swipes it away and opens an email from an insurance agency. A silken sail unfurls before him, and a cotton hand pats his shoulder.
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"Theo told me about this hideout of yours."
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Henry's mouth drops in surprised delight. "Maggie! I didn't expect you here, what a pleasant surprise!"
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She puts down her bag, then sits gracefully opposite him. "I hope I'm not interrupting your solitude."
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"Not at all. I come to this place because it allows smoking, plus the view of Barclay Street's uniform buildings helps me think," Henry replies, adjusting his collar.
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"Think about what, specifically?" She tilts her head slightly.
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"Everything and nothing, you know. Untangling the knots in my mind," he corrects himself with a strained smile.
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The waitress places Henry's breakfast in front of him. "Maggie, would you like something to eat?" Henry asks.
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"I'm not hungry, I'll just have a berry smoothie," she replies.
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"Enjoy," the waitress says and elegantly retreats.
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Maggie glances at her and says, "Well, do you notice anything?"
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Henry stares at the waitress's short skirt, "Yes, she's wearing men's cologne, and her right leg is swollen."
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"I'm talking about my new haircut," she runs her hand through her disheveled hair like tree branches.
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Henry scratches his neck. "Didn't really notice, to be honest. Your hair's like Garofalo spaghetti, it looks great however you cook it."
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She smiles and says, "Chloe did it, I've just come from her."
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"Chloe, how is she?" he replies awkwardly.
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"She's fine, serious and disciplined as usual," Maggie replies. "We chatted a bit, and I spoke to her about Emma," she adds.
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"You shouldn't have done that!" He explodes angrily and slams the table.
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"Why! Why not, Henry? Isn't she your daughter as well?" She flares up in turn.
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He rolls his sorrowful eyes outward. "I'm not fit to be her father. I think she'd be better off without me."
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She leans closer and whispers, "Emma needs you, your presence is the roof that protects her, don't be selfish, Henry."
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He bows his head in misery. "Everything beautiful breaks. When I touch it, I'm destined to live life like an extinct star."
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She lifts his chin with her index finger, "Enough of Schopenhauer's philosophy, I've convinced Chloe to allow Emma to accompany you."
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He goes silent, staring into her mesmerizing eyes, then his untamed tongue moves: "Damn you Maggie, why didn't you say that from the beginning?"
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He relaxes, leaning back. "That lying git Theo didn't tell me."
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"I didn't tell him that, I deliberately said I only wanted to look after your cat," Maggie replies.
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He waves his hand, reassuring her. "Don't bother yourself. Bentho's a clever cat, he can rely on himself."
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"Yes. Just like you look after yourself!" Maggie retorts. "I've been planning to steal that fur ball for a while now."
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She sips from her drink and then asks, "What about your accommodation, have you booked a hotel?"
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He flicks ash from his cigarette and replies, "No, I have a flat that belongs to my grandmother."
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"That's great, how come you've never taken us there!" Maggie says.
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"You're full of secrets, you stingy spy," she punches him on the chest.
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He raises her glass and looks into it, then says:
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"You're hiding a lot too, that's what your horoscope says."
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---
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"Guilt trip, for goodness' sake. Are you trusting your daughter's life to a feckless man who doesn't know his arse from his elbow?" Aunt Phyllis fumed in her office.
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"She is his daughter, I can't keep her from him even if I wanted to, I thought you'd understand my position," Chloe replies.
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"I see your mouth moving, but it's that hussy's words coming out. Has she brainwashed you like her lawyer husband does?" Phyllis sneers.
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"Maggie has nothing to do with my decision. Emma loves her dad. She's not speaking to me since I refused to let her go," Maggie retorts, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. "I'm genuinely knackered, and keeping Henry from his daughter would be punishing me, not him."
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Phyllis stares at her gloatingly. "My mistake was letting you two get involved in the first place; it was obvious neither of you was suitable for the other."
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"Henry is my grandson and you… I've always considered you a daughter, and now that little one is another responsibility falling on my shoulders. Oh," she sighs.
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"I'm eternally grateful, Aunt Phyllis..." Chloe begins
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"Gratitude is cheap currency." Phyllis cuts her off. "I was planning to leave the business to someone trustworthy to run after I retire, but both of you have proven a dismal investment."
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She pulls out a chequebook, signs a cheque. "Give this to Emma. That twit is skint. I don’t know how he plans on paying for this trip!"
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She returns the chequebook to her bag and stands. "I’ve just remembered, another thing. Tell that new masseuse to stop with her dodgy moves on the clients."
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"Do you mean Kalliope?" Chloe asks.
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"Kalliope, Kalonji, whatever her name is." Phyllis puts on a pair of dark sunglasses and adds sternly, "This is a body care centre, not a Thai massage parlour. Now, excuse me, I have a pressing engagement."
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On the verge of shutting the door, she turns back. "By the way, Chloe, you look peaky. I don't like it. Take some time off and don't come back until you’re glowing like a cherub."
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The door slams shut. Across town, a harassed voice cuts through the line.
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"Hello. Theodore Evans's chambers, how can I help you?"
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"Hello, my name is Brenda. My daughter has been abducted. I want to press charges."
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"One moment, please," says Sydney, the secretary, consulting her diary. "Mr. Evans is rather swamped this week, You can visit our office next Monday. We would be happy to listen to your matter."
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"Is your office on the fourth floor of the Duncan Jacobs building?" Brenda interrupts.
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"Yes, madam, but I'm afraid we're closed for the day," Sydney answers.
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"Then unlock the door. I'm in the lift and I'm not waiting until Monday."
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Mrs. Brenda enters, flaring her black coat like the wings of a Socotra cormorant, accompanied by a boy in a Newcastle United shirt with a school bag on his back.
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She gives Sydney a curt nod and lowers herself into a chair. "Thank you, dear. I couldn't have turned back after reaching the place. The jeweller in Helen's told me Mr. Evans could help me after I told him my story."
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"He's not available right now. I can take your details and we'll call you to arrange an appointment," Sydney replies.
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"Shane, get the bag," Brenda calls to the boy. She opens it and pulls out a wad of cash. "You Listen to me, And you listen good. I sold all my remaining jewellery. I'm not leaving until I speak to the lawyer." She places the money in front of Sydney.
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"It's not about the money, madam. And we don't take upfront payments for consultations," she answers.
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Brenda reaches inside her coat, rummages in her pockets, then pulls out a picture and places it in front of Sydney.
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"Look at this. This is my daughter, Casey. She dreamed of becoming an architect. She travelled to Edinburgh two months before graduation and hasn't come back. I received a letter telling me she's decided to join a travel agency; bloody cheek! Can you believe that, for Christ's sake! Seven years of relentless slog to become a tour guide a city she knows nowt about!"
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Sydney looks at the photo, then replies, "Well, it is a bit strange. But we're a law firm, not private investigators. Sadly, madam, this is outside our remit."
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"What's strange, Sydney?" Theo enters at that moment.
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Mrs. Brenda retells the story.
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"And have you had a phone call from your daughter?" Theo asks.
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"No. Nothing," Brenda replies. "She went with two other students. One of them told me that Casey met a lad, a tour guide, during a visit to some secret underground streets, and decided to stay on for longer."
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"Case closed!" Sydney claps her hands. "It's obvious Casey’s fallen for this fella. She'll come to her senses soon when she sobers up from the Scotch, and maybe she'll visit you with a new grandson!"
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"Shut your gob, or I'll shove that pen into your flat chest!" Brenda flares up like a dynamite fuse. "My daughter isn't some cheap tart to run off with a drain rat."
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"Calm down a bit, Madam," Theo interjects.
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"Don't you tell me to calm down too!" She points a finger at him.
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"Everyone keeps saying the same blimming thing. No one's taking me seriously. I rang the police up there. They replied with a fax with a sperm vagina slogan on it."
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"Heh heh," Theo chuckles. "You mean semper vigilo. And what did the police say?" he asks.
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"Please, sir, I'm not here for jokes. Those numpties said nothing, just thanked me for ringing. I rang again, A policeman answered: 'Aye, we’ve got yer wee lassie’s details oan file, hen. we'll add it tae the pile. We’ll get roond tae it when we get roond tae it, so we will. Now, away ye go and dinnae bother us unless she's turned up wi' a bagpipe stuck to her bum!'"
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Theo blinked. suppressing his smile.
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"He talked like my daughter's some kind of refugee in her own mother's house," Brenda retorts.
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"That's peculiar! You said your daughter's name is Casey Casley?" He notes it down on a piece of paper.
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"Yes."
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Theo pulls a bound register from his drawer and starts flipping through the pages. "What about the boy, is he Casey's brother?"
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"No, that's my grandson. He's her older brother's son," says Brenda.
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Theo stops at a page and asks, "Is Raymond Casley related to you?"
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"Yes," she whispers. "He's the boy's father."
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Theo closes the register and puts it back. "Alright, Mrs. Casley, I'll take your case."
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He clasps his fingers together. "My usual private investigator is unwell, so I'm going to call on the services of a retired colleague who knows the country inside out. Your daughter's case is shrouded in mystery, and I will not hesitate to expose its threads."
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"Thank God, and thank you, sir. You don't know how much I've suffered, and no one's listened to me," Brenda replies.
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"Excuse my filthy mouth, it's something I inherited from my foul-mouthed father," she says to Sydney as she's leaving.
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"No problem, love, I understand," Sydney replies.
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Mrs. Brenda exits and closes the door behind her.
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"She's incredibly rude. No wonder no one listens to her," says Sydney.
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"I don't blame her," says Theo. "Her daughter's missing and her son's in prison. How would you be if you were in her shoes!"
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He places one foot over the other and adds, "Now, how am I going to convince that honey badger to come out of his burrow again?"
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