Arkwright banged on the door and shouted, "Hello, it's the police here, is anyone in there? Shit, Tracy, can you hear that?"
"Flies?"
Ken Arkwright bent down and looked through the letter box. "Oh, Christ-" He recoiled from the letter box so quickly that Tracy's first thought was that someone had squirted something into his eyes. It happened to a sergeant a few weeks ago, a nutter with a Squeezy washing-up bottle full of bleach. It had put everyone off looking through letter boxes. Arkwright, however, immediately squatted down and pushed open the letter box again and started talking soothingly, the way you would to a nervy dog. "It's OK, it's OK, everything's OK now. Is Mummy there? Or your daddy? We're going to help you. It's OK." He stood and got ready to shoulder the door. Pawed the ground, blew air out of his mouth and said to Tracy, "Prepare yourself, lass, it's not going to be pretty."
Kate Atkinson
Started Early, Took My Dog
This gave me chills on the train today. Kate Atkinson is my hero.
