She knew which country it was in, although over the last few months they kept changing the name of the rundown rinkydink shithole because of ‘regime...changes’. She also knew the place was between a river which she didn’t know the name of, a castle with three different names, God knows why, and a factory that used to make tanks in WWII, and that never had a name at all. The castle and the factory and the windmill itself had all got the shit bombed out of them during that war, but then all of them. So be a Dear and let me get some rest now.’ smiling she told him, ‘How about that, I’m seventy nine and at my time of life becoming a drug addict. I can’t wait for my next shot.’ But Misha’s smile was forced. He looked at the woman in bed, frail and getting weaker each day, her face pinched with pain, the sparkle gone from her eyes and lent over kissing her cheek. ‘Next thing you’ll be asking me to take you clubbing Gammy.’ * Sitting in the departure lounge at Gatwick surrounded by people. More

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