“She had lately been driving a red Volkswagen Beetle that was hard to miss. I knew it was her car because on nights when Mother’s drunken rages get too much I sometimes walk out to her house and stand in the bushes in her front garden. I find it quite calming. I hate her, but still feel protective of her. I’m pretty good at blending in. The dark clothes and balaclava help. One night she opened the front door and guldered, ‘I’m calling the police, you fucking nutter!’ into the darkness, but I’m n...ot convinced it was directed at me. It’s an odd neighbourhood. Alison exchanged her old Mini for this Volkswagen the week after we split up, or nine days after she caused Mother to have a stroke. I think it was a way of assuaging her guilt. Really, for the guilt-assuaging to work, she should have bought my mother the Volkswagen rather than treat herself, though obviously she would then have had to have the steering wheel and gears and brakes adapted. Alison made no attempt to get out of her car, though she knew that I could see her.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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