Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. She was chaffing him about being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should be presented to me as the millionaire. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family. These two elderly ladies would call her stark mad. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. It probably still wouldn’t help. . ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. Then he understood. ‘Poor Gerald has been very busy about your affairs this last week.
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