The devil’s agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?
“Can you do Genghis a favour?” Fionnuala and I were in the swimming pool balcony while the children were at a lesson.
The muffled, echoey soundtrack of swimmers and coaches and whistles and splashes was lulling me to sleep and I only half-heard the name. But somewhere deep in my subconscious, his heartless, stony face was staring at me.
“Well, it’s a favour for his friend McGowan, I suppose,” Fionnuala elaborated.
“He’s minding McGowan’s dog, and he’s going to Shania Twain on Saturday, so will you feed and walk the dog while he’s away?”
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There was already a lot to unpack there. “Why can’t you?”
“Because I’m not comfortable with that dog.”
McGowan was a tubby bachelor with wavy hair who always made me repeat my sentences by saying “Eh?” in a sneering voice. I had no doubt he had heard; he was making me beg for his response.
His spectacular, coiffured hair........
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