‘How do you know about George? The newspapers don’t know about him. Who told you about him?’ ‘Nobody has. It’s me.’ ‘George is dead,’ she said firmly. ‘Is that what Mum and Dad told you? I’m not, I’m here.’ ‘Stop saying that! I’ve had private detectives try and find him.’ ‘Then they’ve been looking in the wrong places, Debbie. For years I worked on farms in Scotland, then the fishing trawlers in Scandinavia. Eventually I bought my own place near Store Brattholmen in Norway, where I’ve lived for nearly twenty years.’
