“He was a child, he was in her house, none of it was his fault. She was going to have to see him and occasionally – though as seldom as possible – be with him. She had to know what he was called. Mopsa looked foolish. This was not her witch or her frightened hare but her village idiot look. She smiled slyly. ‘I don’t know.’ They had been out, Mopsa and the boy. She had taken him somewhere in the car. The thought came to Benet that he must have sat in the back in James’s baby seat. At least she h...adn’t seen it. She had decided she wouldn’t go out in daylight again. After dark, yes, but not by day. They had been shopping and brought back their purchases, whatever those might be, in carrier bags from Mothercare and Marks & Spencers. The boy whose name Mopsa said she didn’t know was taking off his dirty red coat and trying to undo the fastenings on his sandals. ‘Yes, you do,’ Benet said. She thought her voice sounded like that of a psychiatric nurse. ‘Of course you know his name.’ Mopsa squatted down to help him with his sandals.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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