“Pre-war, most of these buildings had been well-kept family hotels, catering to the thousands of holidaymakers who took the train down from London and stayed for weeks on end, but vacation tastes had changed and the hotels had got seedier and seedier until the developers stepped in, sorted out the crumbling stucco and Victorian plumbing and turned the entire parade into a lifestyle statement. Instead of tour coaches, there were BMWs and sleek Mercedes saloons at the kerbside. Instead of high tea... and an evening of bingo, the new residents preferred digital TV and designer cocktails. Eadie Sykes lived at number thirty-three. Faraday inspected the intercom and pressed the button against her name. After a couple of showers in the late afternoon, the weather had cheered up again and the tiny cap of cloud over the Isle of Wight was pinked with the last rays of sunset. ‘Joe? Hi. Come up.’ Faraday took the lift to the fourth floor, trying hard not to look at himself in the mirrored glass. The last twenty-four hours had been even more brutal than usual and he knew it showed on his face.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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