A few of the faces were familiar – Carole Anders, my old English teacher, was one of them. She sported a brown eye-patch as the result of a drunken brawl with one of the sixth formers she taught. I’d seen it reported in the local paper.
She waved at Tuc and went back to whispering to a gangling, bookish type who wore glasses that were at least as strong as the Hubble Telescope: Fast Eddy.
“Did you hear about Eddy?” said Bryn.
“I’ve heard a lot about Fast Eddy, none of it good,” I said.
I’d known Eddy for donkey’s years. From back in the days when I was a teacher and he was the school bus driver. The slowest, most overly cautious driver you could ever meet. Hence the nickname.
“Not heard about his latest romantic escapade, then?”
“Dunno,” I said. “I lose track. Do tell.”
“Well, they
