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Mal and the night time intruder: Many The Miles audiobook - Listen for FREE on Audible.com!

Mal dozed fitfully on the sun lounger inside the summerhouse. His old bones creaked with the discomfort of inadequate support and unsuitable ergonomics. It was ok for an hour or two’s snooze, but not to spend whole tense and watchful nights on, not at his age. He was starting to think Glen might have been right – it was a kid’s drawing, and he’d so wanted it to be a communication from her that he’d started to join random dots to make a non-existent picture. What would Sally say if she could see him now, bent almost double with backache from nights sleeping on a chair in a shed, all because of an insane hunch? Darling Sally, his voice of reason – taken from him too soon, when he clearly still needed her to temper the madness. What he should do now was unfold himself from this chair, limp agonisingly up the lawn attempting to stretch the kinks out of his spine, and have a pleasant night’s rest on his expensive, orthopaedic mattress. Nothing was going to happen out here.

He sat up with a grunt of discomfort, lower back tweaking painfully. The double-doors stood open, admitting night breeze into the close little shack. As Mal swung his legs around and prepared for the torturous ordeal of standing, a human shadow flitted across one of the opaque side windows.

Instantly alert, Mal groped desperately under the lounger for the baseball bat he’d taken the precaution of bringing in case Glen’s theory was proved correct – that this was a plot to kidnap him too! His hand closed around the reassuring wooden shaft. He withdrew it from under the chair, and gripped it firmly in front of him like a batter facing a pitch, trying to edge to his feet as silently as possible, for once little noticing the chorus of complaining pops, pulls, and twinges.

The silhouette reappeared, creeping slowly around the water side of the summerhouse towards the open door; a big outline, tall and broad, clearly not Kennedy. Adrenaline pumping, physical limitations of sedentary late-middle-age temporarily forgotten, Mal squared his stance, raised the bat in both hands level with the approaching intruder’s head, and got ready to swing.

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