...the key was still in her father's safe. How could Clive have gotten hold of it? Why would Clive even want it?
A couple of miles away, back at the old house, Joe was inside. The place was filthy, and no-one had bothered to remove any of the debris left by his mother. Still, who would? There was only him. That was his job.
When he heard the distant shot he turned around with a start but quickly dismissed it. Farmers were forever scaring off foxes, here. He would have to re-acquaint himself with old familiar noises, and the ways of the country. He wasn't used to it anymore.
He walked through to the kitchen.
Most of all he noticed the silence of the house. It was strange to him. When he was a boy, the radio was always on in this house. On minute his mother would be dancing around the kitchen in the throes of an drunken high. She could be fun, twirling her son around with her, making him laugh. But slowly Joe began to associate the highs as the precursor to the lows. He would come home later that evening after visiting Violet, to find his Mum crashed out in the living room. The radio still blaring.
The silence was too much. He couldn’t stay here, with the silence.
He went over to the kitchen window and switched the radio back on. He didn’t expect it to come on, but it did, with a startling volume. A volume that masked the noise coming from the back of the house...