Dead Wrong

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It never rains but it pours. Tell me about it. Everything had been quiet for weeks. So quiet I’d been reduced to serving injunctions and other papers for a solicitor – Rebecca Henderson of Platt, Henderson & Cockfoot. Yes, Cockfoot. Not exactly a drought of work but no more than a drizzle. Certainly not enough to top up the reservoirs of cash that I needed to keep myself and my daughter Maddie.

I hate delivering injunctions. It’s a thankless task. The people you’re finding don’t want to be found. And they definitely don’t want to receive the papers. I usually scarper as soon as they’ve got hold of the documents, before realisation dawns, but some of them cotton on quick and are all for shooting the messenger.

I’m a fully paid-up coward when it comes to physical or even verbal aggression. Not only does it hurt like hell and do nasty things to your body, but it messes up your soul too. Scars on the inside as well as the outside. I’ve had my share of assaults and I’ll do anything to reduce the risks of it happening again.

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