“But it was not cosy like some of the gypsy caravans he’d seen – all exotic hangings and bright wood carvings. No, this was cosy in a front-parlour-in-Whitebridge way, with its Boots’ prints hanging on the metal walls, and its shelves of knick-knacks which would surely have to be carefully stored in cotton wool every time the fair moved on. Zelda herself was in her late thirties. Her hair was set in a sensible salon perm, and she was wearing a cardigan and skirt which could have been bought from... any of the high-street chains. The only things which distinguished her from an ordinary housewife were a number of large and elaborate rings on her fingers, and the fact that when the sunlight caught her at the right angle, it gleamed on her three gold teeth. ‘You know why I’m here, don’t you?’ Woodend asked, settling himself down as comfortably as he could on the narrow bench which ran along one side of the caravan. ‘You’re here to ask me about Stan Dawkins,’ Zelda said. ‘That’s right, I am.’ ‘Well, I’m not sure there’s much I can tell you.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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