Michael
Blessingmoors?
That place?
Charlotte is white. “That's the one," she says through a mouthful of food. Clutching her wineglass, she knocks back the contents. Ross appears behind her, bottle poised and clearly listening to the exchange, c*****g his eye at Haswell. Richard, almost surreptitiously, nods and Ross refills her glass.
She sits, gripping the glass in one hand. I slip my hand over the other. She's cold.... More than that, clammy....
Scared Babe?
Don't be. You're safe…
.... We're here for you....
It comes crashing in over me....
The affair at Blessingmoors, having drifted from rumour to rumour over years, largely ignored or somehow, shushed, finally burst out a couple of years ago. Tales of trafficking, child prostitution, paedophilia, it all came out. Sick stories,
