This might be the end of Alex’s story, but it’s also the beginning of the book. If it sounds like I’ve given too much away already, don’t worry. When he is called in for questioning, he calmly admits to cultivating the one hundred and thirteen grams of marijuana that have been found in the car’s glove pocket. Alex has a minor epileptic fit, declares himself unfit to drive, and then sits silently conjugating irregular Spanish verbs while he waits to be interrogated by the police. A customs controller has just shone a torch on the passenger seat, only to find an urn containing the remains of said car’s owner. He’s seventeen years old and sitting at the wheel of Mr Peterson’s car at Dover after a hasty round trip to Zurich.
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May 2023
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