Zak ran lightly into the lounge and said, ‘Hi, Dad. My fault. I was showing Joe the house and we were just admiring the view.’
‘Of the houses opposite, you mean? Strange tastes you’ve got, girl.’
Henry Oto was a tall athletically built man with a square determined face. Zak had got his height and her mother’s looks. Her sister had got her mother’s size and her father’s looks. You never know how the genes are going to come at you, thought Joe.
He knew from the papers that Oto was a senior prison officer at the Stocks, Luton’s main jail. Remember, no escape jokes.
He said, ‘Hi, Mr Oto. I’m helping Zak out, fetching and carrying, you know.’
Oto said, ‘Fetching and carrying what?’
Joe shrugged and looked to Zak for help. Clearly her father lacked her mother’s courteous acceptance of the vagaries of her daughter’s new lifestyle. That’s what came of associating with criminals.
Zak said, ‘You don’t want your finely tuned daughter straining her back picking up her holdall, do you?’
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