This novel is something a little different for me. It is a satire set in the UK at the present moment. There are striking parallels between these days and the 1930s. There’s a lot of racist people around who are crawling out of the woodwork as they have been encouraged by the implications of the Brexit vote.
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“Top attitude,” replied Tompkins, sorting out his cards, “but I doubt Ingram will be taken in by the au pair. She will have rigor mortis soon and I am sure that surly chap will wake up in the next few minutes.”
“Not after the way you slapped him, Tomcat, he’ll be out for hours,” said Terry smiling at his cards, which weren’t the best hand he’d ever had. He placed his first card on the table and hoped for the best.
After five minutes of playing, there was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get that,” said Tompkins. He strode with great confidence to the front door and opened it wide.
“Why if it isn’t me old friend, Constable Ingram, how the hell are you? Long time, no see.”
“It’s Inspector Ingram, Detective Inspector Ingram,” intoned Ingram, “and I am fine, thank you for asking, Mr. Tompkins. Are you practising your archery again?”
“Not this time, a different day, a different game, Ingram, you know how it is.”
“I don’t, because I’m not wealthy, like yourself, Mr. Tompkins, anyway, enough of games, are you aware of the couple on the pathway to this house?”
“What couple?” asked Tompkins casting an eye behind the Inspector.
“The couple looking as though they are having sex on the pathway, the pathway to this house.”
Tompkins stepped over to the verandah and saw the couple were still where he’d left them.
“Good Lord, so there is, what a cheek, throw a bucket of water over them Ingram, how dare they?”
“Well, they’re not engaged in intercourse, Mr. Tompkins, she’s dead and he’s unconscious.”
Julian Worker Fiction Writing 