pocket every single morning, in front of me, at the kitchen door, had not opened a door in that building since the spring.
He had been getting up, showering, putting on a clean shirt, and leaving at ten past seven for eleven months.
So where was he going?
A distribution warehouse out at Brackley Cross, twenty-six minutes away.
Eleven at night until six in the morning. Eight months of it. Under his own name, on a payroll, with a locker and a number.
Because after the third month, suspension stops being paid.
I did not know that. I had no reason to know it and I have since found out that almost nobody does.
The money is the part nobody asks about, so I will put it down.
Our outgoings are four thousand one hundred a month. That is the mortgage, the car, her swimming, the lot.
A night shift
