13
Sam tried to remember his manners and not talk with his mouth full, but it was hard. The food was good and the buffet table was still groaning invitingly, but it seemed everyone wanted to hear everybody else’s stories all at once.
He’d helped himself to bacon, both lamb and pork sausages, fried tomato, toast, mushrooms and ordered two fried eggs, sunny-side up, from the cheery African woman cooking the eggs to order. His plate was almost empty already, but he knew he still had room for more.
John Lemon was next to him at the long wooden dining table, now onto coffee, while Cheryl-Ann was seated opposite him. On one side of her was a sun-tanned square-jawed English guy called Steele, who said he worked in security, while on the other was another Australian, a thin guy in his thirties
