g as she did so. “We leave at half ten. Oh, don’t bother with the washing up Derrick, I’ll do that. I’ll also do some sandwiches.” Rachel gave Derrick a quick kiss and dashed into the kitchen in order to carry out her promised tasks, then shouted back at them to get a move on.By the time they’d got to the Salvation Army, it was half eleven. Derrick had decided he desperately needed a shower so the group were delayed a further half-hour. The main room was cramped, obviously, only three men would be able to fit along it’s width, but the paint-work played an odd illusion with his eyes, orange and pink, striped horizontally in thick lines along the walls. Mohandas figured Rachel must be talented after seeing some of her work. He noticed a painting of a white kite with unusual pattern markings on the wall.“Rachel,” Rachel spun her head round from a conversation with an old, solemn-looking black man on the hospice floor.“Uh-huh?”“Who’s the artist? It’s an odd subject matter.”“You’re talking to her.” She got up and stared at the painting. “I did it about a year ago, I tried to sell it but no-one wanted it. It’s of one of those uniform Kent Kite Club kites; my father was a devotee. Every Saturday he’d spend up the common, flying his ‘little white hawk’.” Mohandas gave Rachel an awkward smile, I mean, what does he say? ‘Nice to know your father’s a loony?’“So, uh, why is that guy here? He looks so glum, is he okay to talk to?” asked Mohandas, pointing at the elderly grey-haired male in the corner with whom Rachel had previously been conversing.“Billy Marsden, his name is.” Rachel looked both sides then whispered, “If you’re planning to talk to him, tread carefully, he lost his only daughter, the only one that cared for him, in a tragic fire in their h...
