The Toy Taker. Luke Delaney. Полицейские детективы. . Читать онлайн. Литмир. LITMIR.BIZ

This is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780007486144

Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780007486137

Version 2016-10-31

DEDICATION

To my Mum – Mary.

I grew up in quite a large family, my siblings and I being close in age and none of us angels. We were a nightmare at times and just feeding, clothing and keeping us clean must have been exhausting and stressful, enough to push a mere mortal over the edge. But to this day I can’t remember Mum ever being angry with me or even telling me off much. All I remember is feeling safe and loved when she was there. I could have done with a kick up the backside from time to time, but I think Mum felt we’d take enough hits and knocks as we grew older, and saw her role as being the one to give us sanctuary when we needed it – and we did.

It would be wrong of me to give the impression she was soft though. She’s intelligent and tough, and razor sharp – a legacy of being the only sister with three older brothers growing up in the industrial northeast. She used her toughness to protect us when we were younger: she was the buffer between us and the big bad world – mine in particular, I think. She’d occasionally bunk me off school on a Friday, and we’d head into the city centre where I’d watch patiently while she bought yet more cushions, my reward being a slap-up lunch in a café. They were the best Fridays ever!

As my childhood gave way to the teenage years she remained the brick I anchored myself to, dispensing words of wisdom in a never-ending supply, picking me up when I was down, encouraging me when I was ready to quit, slipping me (and my pals) a few quid when she could so we could buy some smokes and the occasional pint, feeding me (and my pals) at the drop of a hat, advising me (and my pals) of how to fix our broken hearts when girlfriends left us for boys with cars.

One day, as I was miserably nursing an aforementioned broken heart, she said something that has stuck with me ever since: Being miserable is a conscious decision and a waste of life. Every minute you sit there being miserable is a minute of your life you’ll never get back. In a blink of an eye you’ll be as old as I am now and you’ll regret wasting these minutes like you won’t believe. Wise words indeed.

Sadly Mary lost the one and only love of her life a few years ago – my dad, Mike. She’s struggled since then, understandably. They were together for nearly fifty years – loyal and loving to the last. Not easy losing the love of your life, but she remains a beautiful and formidable lady.

For everything she’s done for me, my siblings and my dad, Mike, I’d like to dedicate this book to her.

For Mum. For Mary.

God bless.

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