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How did he kill William?" He ran him down. Poor Will sat in his car at the side of the road, and that man ran into him with a forty ton lorry. Straight over the top he went, crushed the car like a matchbox with my Will inside it. He never stood a chance."Tears ran down Maria's cheeks. Her anger brought on an adrenalin surge and her speech became less slurred. She mopped her cheeks with a tissue. Paul waited for her to calm down."But it was an accident, right? I mean he didn't deliberately run him down, did he?"Maria started to sob. Paul put his arm around her and held her to him. The sobbing stopped, and she continued."He was texting, Paul. People saw him. He held his phone up on the steering wheel and he was sending a text. That's why he lost control of his lorry. He was doing sixty miles an hour down Detling hill, and he was texting. My Will had to die so he could send a text."Paul held her head to his chest as she cried. The barman started to come over, but Paul held up his hand. In response, Terry angled her chair 45 degrees towards Clinton, who took the opportunity to laugh in my face. Rewind time, I thought.As I played the scene back to where we were all standing immediately before sitting precisely where Charles dictated, a shocking thing happened. It was completely unexpected, by me at any rate.All but one of the other players acted normally, if you call acting out actions in reverse, normal. The exception was Clinton, who sat in his seat staring at me, his eyebrows lifted and a look of amazement on his face, which was mirrored on my own face. At the point where all were standing, except the pair of us, I got up quickly, grabbed Terry and sat us down where Bubble Buttocks and I had warmed the chairs earlier (or is that “later”?)I looked defiantly at Clinton, who grinned back at me and said, “Nice one, Bob”, in his American accent, and shuffled round to sit the other side of Terry.Charles and Gwendoline were a little confused, as was Terry, who tried to.
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