Mum and Dad Taxi Service

‘I just killed a man.’

Forget coffee or ice-cold showers: if you want to be rock-hard sober in a heartbeat, there’s nothing more effective than a confession of murder from your only child.

‘What?’

‘I mean, he had it coming.’

What.

What? What are you talking about? What? What? What?’

Not my most eloquent moment. So sue me. I was under a lot of stress. There’d been a bit of a reshuffle at work, and now I was on Asshole Paul’s team, and he was living up to his name. They were fucking me about with the Christmas bonus. And, oh yes, it seems that my son is a total fucking psychopath.

‘D’you remember Becky?’

Oh, Christ.

‘Becky from school?’

‘No – from down the street.’

‘Jesus Christ…’

‘D’you remember her husband? Fat fucker. He was in the paper that time, y’know, for breaking that park bench. Total fucking land-whale. Remember?’

‘Jesus Christ. Are you saying… have you killed Fat Frank?’

‘Well – yeah.’

‘Jesus. Jesus. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ Almighty, what—’

‘He had it coming. If you’d seen her face, if you’d seen what he was about to do, you’d’ve done the same.’

Jesus. Now, that’s something to think about. If he’s telling the truth, well… maybe I would. Jesus.

‘Why. Why are you telling me this?’

‘Right. Yeah. The thing is, on account of him being such a big fucker, his body won’t fit in Becky’s boot. I need to borrow the car. Oh, and a shovel, if you’ve got one.’

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