‘Oh no,’ Mrs Pargeter moaned. ‘I don’t believe . . .’
But her words trailed away in an awful moment of déjà vu – or perhaps déjà entendu. There was a sound of approaching sirens. Mrs Pargeter and Concrete Jacket turned, and the déjà entendu was supplemented by déjà vu. They looked down the hill to where two police cars were screeching to a halt beside Gary’s Rolls-Royce and the Range Rover.
Mrs Pargeter saw the prospects for her house’s completion fade once again away into the distance.
‘Oh, Fossilface!’ she groaned in exasperation.