Anybody Out There [antikvár]

Prologue There was no return address on the envelope, which was a little weird. Already, I was slightly uneasy. Even more so when I saw my name and address . . . The sensible woman would not open this. The sensible woman would throw it in the bin and walk away. But, apart from a short period between the ages of twenty-nine and thirty, when had I ever been sensible'^ So I opened it. It was a card, a watercolour of a bowl of droopy-looking floipers. Andflimsy enough that I couldfeel something inside. Money? I thought A cheque? But I was just being sarcastic, even though there was no one there to hear me and, anyway, I was only saying it in my own head. And indeed, there was something inside: a photograph . . . Why was I being sent this? I already had loads of similar ones. Then I saw that I was wrong. It wasn't him at all And, suddenly, I understood