This short story is the copyright of Jenny Roberts 2002. You are welcome to download for personal reading but no extract or story may be reproduced without the express written consent of the author.

'You're an obsessive, Cameron. You know that, don't you?'

Becky was stretched out on the lounger, rubbing Factor 20 onto the pink skin of her generous, sexy belly and shaking her head. She was wearing nothing more than a bright-yellow bikini bottom. Her spiky-blonde hair shone and her round face glowed in the bright Canarian sun.

I glanced down at my black Speedo swimsuit and my still-athletic body beneath it and grunted as I towelled myself down 'I just like to keep fit, that's all! For Christ's sake - I'm 36 this year Becks, it's a dangerous age.'

Maybe my eyes lingered just a little too long over my friend's midriff. Or maybe she read some unintended criticism in my voice but her eyes flashed with irritation. She was, after all, a year older than me.

'Yes, but fifty bloody lengths twice every day! For goodness sake flower, you're supposed to be relaxing!'

I laid out the towel on the sun bed and bit my tongue We'd been friends since breaking up as lovers in our early twenties but this was the first time we'd ever been on a holiday like this. Usually we did something active. Walking, touring - something interesting. But this year she'd insisted. I'd just started working for myself- she'd had a difficult few months in court. We both needed a rest and Tenerife would be perfect, she said.

Now, three days into the fortnight, I was already going out of my fucking mind with boredom.

Becky rolled her eyes dramatically as I fell onto the sun bed. 'Bloody hell, you're not actually going to sunbathe, are you?'

Sometimes she can really wind me up. 'No. I'm not,' I countered, tetchily, 'I'm going to sit under the parasol, read a book and get pissed, so you needn't disturb yourself.'

I turned away in a huff and buried my head in the latest Saz Martin thriller. I could feel her eyes burning into my back, throwing me that bossy look that she does so well. I gritted my teeth, waiting for the lecture about the effect of constant stress on your heart, the importance of relaxation...

Yeah, yeah.

After a minute or two, she touched me gently on the leg.

I ignored her.

'Cameron... Aw, come on, love, let's not get ratty with each other.' The soft Liverpudlian cadence in her voice and the let's-be-nice tone somehow made me even more irritable. I stared out over the pool at the hundreds of oily bodies toasting in the sun, and held my anger close in a tight little ball. Don't you just hate it when you pick a fight and no one comes?

Becky rested her head on my shoulder and put her arms around my waist, pulling me into her. I could feel her bare breasts against my back and I knew that she wouldn't give a damn about the looks we were getting from the neat little nuclear families all around us.

'Come on, flower,' she whispered, nuzzling my neck, 'lighten up, please... we're on holiday.'

'And just how am I supposed to do that?' I snorted, nodding towards the mass of sunbathers and, in particular, a rather matronly woman in a puce swimsuit who couldn't take her eyes off us. 'How the fuck am I supposed to relax here? Just look around you - the place is crawling with middle-class hets and their screaming kids. They're watching every fucking move we make.'

Becky laughed and stuck her chin into my shoulder. 'You old grouch!' she blew playfully in my ear so that a tingle ran all the way down my spine. The woman in the puce swimsuit gawped in amazement.

Maybe I was a grouch. The hotel grounds were beautiful, after all. There were big old trees - proper trees - with ferns growing out from among their branches as well as the tall palms, dotted all around the lush gardens. The grass and the flower beds were immaculate, and the pool was big and not too warm. It could have been paradise, except the whole thing was messed up by people. Cramming the sides of the pool, wearing their designer leisurewear, their David Beckham sunglasses, drinking their alcopops and allowing their children to terrorise the water.

Becky, as usual, could sense what I was thinking. 'Cam, they're just people enjoying themselves. For goodness sake - chill out, love. I chose this hotel 'cos I thought you'd like it here.'

'Yeah, okay,' I conceded reluctantly. 'It's just... well... they're all so fucking alien, aren't they? We stand out like sore thumbs - I feel like everyone's watching our every move.'

She was kneeling behind me now, her hands on my shoulders, massaging, kneading gently, smoothing away some of the tension and shaking her head good-naturedly. 'They're perfectly okay. It's you, you just can't bear doing nothing.'

She was right, of course - I don't do this sort of relaxation well. It frightens me. It's too easy just sitting around in the sun. You can hear yourself thinking.

I screwed my head round and pulled a face at her, feeling guilty. It was a beautiful day. A waiter was collecting our empty glasses off the table behind us, one of the gardeners was watering a flower bed a few yards away. Parrots with bright blue, red and green plumage were swooping through the trees. And the people around us, in truth, were mostly minding their own business. Sometimes, I admit, I can be over-sensitive.

Sometimes I can be selfish, too. Becky was enjoying herself, just lying in the sun - and I was spoiling it. 'It's okay,' I smiled, trying hard, 'you sunbathe to your heart's content, I'm gonna take a walk down by the sea.'

She stuck her head on one side, and studied me for a moment. Then she reached out for her shirt. 'No, I've lounged about long enough, I need some exercise too.' She smiled ruefully and stuck her tongue out at me. 'Otherwise I might run to seed as well.'

I laughed good-humouredly, picked up my own shirt and stood up - just as Becky froze and the colour drained from her face.

'What is it? What's wrong?' I asked, concerned.

She looked up at me. Even in the intense heat, she was trembling.

'It's gone!' she breathed, desperation spilling from her lips. 'My brooch... I unpinned it from my shirt when I sat down... I was going to clean it...' She shook her head with disbelief, her voice catching in her throat. 'Cam, it's gone!'

'Oh, you probably just knocked it onto the ground. It'll be here somewhere,' I tried reassuringly, getting down onto my hands and knees and combing the ground around her sun bed.

But it most certainly wasn't there. It wasn't a brooch you could easily miss. Quite large and shiny, an ornate silver setting with a bright amber stone. Not particularly valuable. Huh, not particularly attractive either - but it had been Becky's mum's. One of her few prized possessions.

'It must be here somewhere,' I said, moving the sun bed, picking up Becky's bag. 'Maybe you put it in here?'

Becky shook her head irritably. 'No! You don't understand Cameron! It's gone! I put it back on the table next to my drink. I know I did. It was there a few minutes ago! Someone must have taken it while we were talking!'

I sat down on the bed and sighed. A thief? Here? Right in the middle of all these people? Well... why not? Why should Tenerife be different from anywhere else?

We both looked around us. At the wrinkled old gardener, who was mopping his brow with a bright yellow cloth a few feet away; at the waiter who had taken the glasses off Becky's table just minutes before and was now threading his way through the sun beds; at all the people on either side of us, sunbathing, reading, walking around.

Becky was thinking the same as me - any one of them could have walked past and casually taken it while we were arguing. She gripped my arm and looked into my eyes, pleading. 'Cam, you've got to help me. We've got to find out who took it, and get it back '

I closed my eyes and fell back onto the sun bed. For God's sake Becky, why couldn't you just be more careful?

Then I sat up again and took off my sunglasses. 'Okay love don't worry, I'll go and ask around - someone must have seen something.'

The woman in the puce swimsuit was laid out on her sun bed and she jumped when I spoke.

'Sorry to bother you.' I smiled, trying to be civil. 'I... erm... I saw you looking across at us a few minutes ago and wondered... Well, the thing is... my friend has lost a piece of jewellery and we wondered if you saw anyone take it. It was on the table behind her'

It felt awkward accusing some unknown person of theft. I felt awkward over Becky's carelessness, too.

She shook her head and replied with a Victoria Wood voice - a sort of clipped, lilting Lancashire. 'N00 love, ah'm sorry if I were staring. I were just gazing around. Didn't see anything though - nowt obvious at any rate.'

Mmm, 'nowt obvious' except Becky rubbing up against me from behind - bet you don't often see that in Chorley.

'I were just watching t'parrots,' she continued, unabashed, like she'd never dream of staring at anyone. 'Lovely, aren't they? Hey mind out, love!'

I ducked as a large green bird swooped past my right ear and up into one of the trees.

'Nearly had you, that one did!' The woman grinned broadly

I allowed myself a smile and crouched down next to her, lowering my voice conspiratorially. The waiter,' I whispered meaningfully, 'he took our glasses while you were looking across there. Could you see if he picked anything else up? Or did you see anyone else take anything off our table?'

She looked serious and shook her head. 'Didn't see a soul love, except t'waiter. He could have teken it for all I know. I weren't looking really I just saw 'im bend down and pick up t'glasses I couldn't see what he had in his hand.'

I couldn't take my eyes off her - she was a fascinating shade of pink and if she stayed in the sun much longer, then her face would begin to match her swimsuit.

'Well...' she continued, unnerved by my stare, 'he'd be a right fool if he did, now, wouldn't he? Stealing? With all these people around?'

Yeah All these people. Except, as I asked around, it became obvious that no one had seen anything. A theft, in broad daylight, right behind our backs, in the middle of a few hundred people. Yet no one had heard or seen a thing - and that included Becky and me.

I began to wonder if Becky had been mistaken, left the brooch in the apartment, or mislaid it. Then I noticed her talking to the gardener. She was suddenly quite red in the face. And he was waving his arms around in a very Gallic sort of way. Irrationally I began to worry about what she was saying to him. Then I reminded myself that this was Becky, the lawyer, the woman who preached correctness and respect in all things.

The waiter was at my side of the pool, making his way back to the bar and I ran after him, catching him before he disappeared.

'You speak English?' I asked, thinking he hardly looked old enough to be out of school.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, his black curly hair bouncing a little as he moved his head.

'A little.' He said with hardly a trace of an accent. His face was fresh and open with no giveaway signs of guilt or unease. His eyes looked bright and intelligent, but his body language betrayed his boredom. I didn't think he looked much like a thief but, then again, bright guy like this must need something to relieve his boredom. Maybe a little excitement - like stealing the odd trinket - made his day go round.

I thought I'd try the direct route.

'My friend put a valuable brooch down on her table a few minutes ago,' I said, pointing over to our sun loungers. 'Now it's gone.' I paused and looked him in the eyes. 'I wondered if you saw it. When you collected the glasses, I mean.'

He furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes, ignoring the man a few sun beds away who was waving a glass at him. 'Your friend has lost her brooch, senora?'

I stared back. 'No, someone has stolen her brooch.'

I watched his eyes carefully as I spoke and they didn't flicker in the slightest. 'Stolen!' He pursed his lips and shook his head. That is a serious accusation, senora. Are you sure?'

He was young, twenty-one or two. Maybe this was his first job, or maybe he was a student working his way through college. Either way he would be stupid to risk his job with a petty theft like this. Besides, he was still showing none of the classic signs of deceit - so, either he was totally honest, or he was a very, very good liar.

'Yes, I'm sure. My friend put the brooch down on the table. Five minutes later it had gone. It's quite large; silver with an orange-coloured stone set into the base and a stick-pin on the back.'

The man on the nearby sun bed was shouting openly now, offended that he was being ignored. The waiter turned and acknowledged him, then continued, his eyes bright and steady.

'I'm sorry, senora, I saw nothing on the table, except empty glasses and a bottle.' He started to turn away. 'You should report this to Reception at once. If you are right then the police should be summoned immediately.'

I was about to agree with him, when a hush fell over the whole of the garden and I looked out across the pool to see two people standing among the trees, shouting loudly at each other.

Becky Williams - astute lawyer and the one woman who can argue a case better than anyone I know - was going into free fall. Standing with her hands on her hips, shouting at the top of her voice in a thick Liverpudlian accent, she was demanding that the gardener empty his pockets. The old man, clearly much offended, had moved up to within inches of her face and was shouting angrily back at her in Spanish, holding his hat in his hand and jerking it up and down by his side.

It was a close-run thing, but I got there before the waiter and prised them apart, inserting myself between them, taking hold of Becky's hands, pushing her firmly backwards, telling her to cool it.

The waiter put his arm around the old man, who was visibly shaken, and spoke to him softly and reassuringly, calming him down.

By now, even the kids had stopped tearing about by the pool, and every face was turned silently towards us. Breathless in the hot afternoon air.

The waiter's eyes flashed angrily at Becky. 'Senora, you have no right to accuse Francisco of such a terrible thing! He is a good man. And you have upset him greatly.'

'Well, it must have been him!' Becky yelled back, still distraught. 'He was working just behind us when my brooch disappeared! But if it wasn't him, it must have been you! You were there as well, weren't you?'

'Becky, please!' I hissed, looking straight into her angry blue eyes. 'What the hell are you doing? You, of all people! I know you're upset, but you can't just go around accusing people!'

She stared back at me defiantly, but suddenly went very quiet. She was no doubt remembering all the advice she'd given to me about being too impetuous, how important it was to use the right channels, how you should always let the authorities investigate first. Every time I took on a new case, she seemed to remind me how I should have respect for the law. And now here she was accusing a stranger of stealing, without a shred of evidence.

I gave her one last piercing look and, still holding her tightly by the wrist, turned round, facing up to the two men.

'Please, senors,' I said quietly, 'can we talk?'

They both stood there quietly enough, but their faces spoke volumes.

'I saw him, Cam! I saw him put it in his pocket!' Becky pointed her free hand accusingly over my shoulder. The gardener stepped back, shaking his head wildly, speaking rapidly and angrily in Spanish to his companion.

I held her wrist even tighter, trying to stay composed, looking as calmly as I could at the waiter, appealing for a translation, still trying to keep a lid on the situation.

The waiter turned back to me, angrily fingering his tray. 'He says it is all a mistake, senora. He says he does not know how your friend could say such a thing about him. He is an honest man He is a good Catholic.'

'Tell him I believe him,' I soothed, 'but, just to calm my friend down, ask him if he would mind showing us what he put in his pocket?'

The waiter nodded, still agitated, but spoke to the old man. He grunted with indignation and put his hand in his trouser pocket begrudgingly pulling out the bright yellow handkerchief I'd noticed him using earlier, and muttering to the waiter all the time. When he began to unfold it, Becky and I held our breath.

But, inside the handkerchief, instead of Becky's brooch, there was a battered silver fob watch.

'He says it is his watch. His wife gave it to him many years ago when they were young. Now that she has passed on, he keeps it with him always.'

Becky looked like she was ready to shrivel up. She turned away briefly, composing herself, then stood up straight and held out a hand to the old man.

'I'm sorry, senor,' she said reticently, taking his hand in both of hers. 'I feel ashamed. I can't believe I said such a terrible thing. Please forgive me. It's just that the brooch was special - it was given to me by my mother when she died.'

There was a slight pause whilst the waiter translated, then the gardener's eyes brightened and he smiled toothlessly back at Becky, clasped her hands in his own, and spoke to her in Spanish.

The waiter sighed with relief. 'He says, "Some things are special, God bless you - and may God be with your mother".'

The gardener smiled gently, put his hat back on his head, then returned to his hose pipe. The waiter nodded politely and left. One hundred pairs of eyes turned away in disappointment.

Becky had her head down studying the grass. I didn't say a word.

'Yeah, okay, Cameron!' she mumbled, shuffling her feet. 'You don't have to say it! I know! I'm a lawyer! I've gone on at you often enough, I should know better.'

I shook my head, partly in relief, partly in amazement. At least this made a change - usually it was me who made all the excuses.

I put my arm round her shoulders and gave her a hug.

'Yeah, well, just keep cool, will you? We have to go carefully here...'

I stopped in mid-sentence. Sometimes you can sense when you're being stared at and I looked up towards the pool. The woman in the puce swimsuit was there, jumping up and down and pulling faces at me, pointing to a clump of bushes just behind us. I spun round at once, just in time to see a tall, thin man in a grey T-shirt and khaki shorts stumble out of the shrubs and make off across the lawn and through the trees, clasping a black canvas bag under his arm.

Becky and I exchanged glances and hurtled after him instantly weaving through the trees and around the sun beds, jumping over the sunshades that he toppled over as he passed, chasing him as he headed inside the hotel and ran across the huge marble lobby.

'Stop him!' I yelled desperately, to anyone who might be listening. But the few English tourists by the reception desk just looked uncertain and embarrassed. The hotel staff reacted by pressing some security alarm, which sent out an ear-piercing whine as the man scattered a trolley full of luggage across the floor towards us and disappeared out of the main entrance. I jumped over a big maroon case as it careered towards me, then shot out of the door after him.

When I stopped to get my bearings on the steps, Becky was right at my shoulder.

'He turned right,' I gasped, setting off down the street, searching ahead of me among the scattering of tourists

'There he is!' shouted Becky, pointing past a couple of market stalls, as the man swerved right and shot down a narrow path between some houses.

He was a good thirty yards ahead of us when we got there but I was fitter than him, and by the time we'd run uphill for a few minutes and the houses had thinned out, I was close enough to see the layer of sweat on his skin and hear the rasping of his breath as he fought to keep going.

He glanced over his shoulder and when he saw how close I was, he gripped the case even tighter, then scrambled away from me, off the path and down the side of a big dry river bed. I followed him, launching myself from the top and grabbing at his sweaty T-shirt as I landed next to him. He twisted away again and I fell heavily onto the rocky, dusty ground, scraping my bare shins and arms - and cursing loudly. He stumbled off, careering along the river bed, falling over, scrambling across the rocks on all fours, dropping the case as he went. I got up and ran the last few yards, grabbing hold of his ankle as he made one last desperate attempt to get away, up the other side.

Finally defeated, he rolled over onto his back, like a submissive dog, his hands held out defensively in front of him.

'Please!' he pleaded in a high-pitched, pathetic - and very English - voice. 'I didn't mean any harm, please let me go!'

Becky picked up the case and stood behind him, pulling a face at his antics. By now he was almost crying. I looked at her and frowned, she shrugged her shoulders in puzzlement.

'Okay, mister,' I threatened, 'Just give us the brooch and we'll let you go.'

He looked at me like he was confused, then turned and reached out for the bag in Becky's hands. She pulled it back out of his reach.

'The brooch!' I demanded, taking a step towards him.

He drew back and started to shake. 'I don't know what you mean,' he whined.

'The brooch that you stole in the hotel garden. Give it back!' I growled.

He shook his head wildly, looking first at Becky and then at me, his hands held out in supplication, his eyes full of something like despair. 'I don't... know anything... about a brooch.' He gulped. 'Please... my camera ...'

We looked at each other, and Becky took a step towards him holding up the bag. The truth was beginning to dawn.

'So this is a camera is it?' She looked straight into his face, taunting him. He nodded and made a weak attempt to smile. Like he was guileless. Just another holidaymaker.

Becky kept her cool this time, speaking slowly, carefully as she unzipped the cover and pulled out an SLR and a very long lens.

'You use this for holiday snaps then?' She held the zoom lens in the air. 'Like, close-up snaps? From the bushes?'

He winced and shrank back. 'I'm... I'm just a... I like photography... it's a hobby,' he tried.

Becky folded her arms and stared calmly at him. A lawyer once again. 'Yeah!' she said, -I just bet it is.'

'No. No, honestly... ifs not like that.' He wept

Becky walked right up to him and breathed quietly into his face. 'Well,, in that case someone better check out the film, hadn't they?'

It was only a short taxi ride to the police station, and he came without a struggle. But it was nearly two hours before we left. Two whole hours of sitting around in just swimsuits and shirts submitting to the stares and the whispered innuendo from the twenty or more cops who found some excuse to wander into the waiting room. Even the detective who took our statement couldn't stop himself staring at Becky's thighs. It had been hard work getting through to them, and in the end I wasn't sure who I loathed more: the peeping Tom or the dirty-minded bastards at the cop shop.

'Well, I hope they lock him up!' Becky spat, as we walked back into the hotel lobby. 'His kind really piss me off.'

'Yeah, I know, but I wouldn't hold your breath, love. You saw the way they looked at us, they're no better than he is. Still if nothing else, we've given him the shock of his life '

Becky grunted in agreement as we walked back into the gardens, then stopped in the shade of a big tree and turned to me, suddenly tearful.

'Oh... Cam, I'm pleased we caught him, but that doesn't get my mum's brooch back, does it?'

'No I guess not,' I said, stroking her arm, trying to think of something helpful to say to her, - but at least you reported it while we were at the cop shop. Maybe they'll recover it.' I did my best to sound hopeful, but I could see from the look in her eyes that she didn't believe that any more than me. Tell you what, Becky...' I tried, 'I'll buy you something special to make up for it.'

She smiled back bravely and I pulled her towards me and held her close. Round the pool, people were still enjoying their holidays, the waiter was still serving drinks and the gardener was cleaning his tools ready to finish for the day. Three or four parrots were flying amongst the trees, still swooping down over the sunbathers, their colourful plumage flashing in the sunshine.

I couldn't work it out. How could someone - anyone - steal a brooch from under our noses, in broad daylight, without a single person seeing it happen? I was certain it wasn't the gardener - or the waiter - so whoever it was must have either been invisible or very, very quick.

Suddenly I had an idea.

'You look terrible, Becks,' I said, feeling a bit of a heel because actually, she looked fine. 'You've got tear stains all down your face and your hair is all tangled and dusty. Why don't you go back to the apartment and have a really nice shower? You'll feel a lot better then.'

She looked at me querulously, like she suspected that I might be up to something.

I shrugged casually. 'I'm not in the mood to sit and read any more, I'm gonna take a walk, be on my own for a while - y'know, just chill out a bit.'

Sometimes I think I should get a job on the stage

She looked at me for a moment and seemed to believe me. Then she nodded and walked wearily back across the gardens and into the hotel. I waited until she'd disappeared before I ran across the grass catching the gardener as he picked up his old canvas tool-bag.

It wasn't easy, and I knew that I didn't have much. time but with what little Spanish I knew, and a lot of sign language I managed to enlist his help. It was a good half hour later when I turned the key in the door of our first-floor room, and the sun was just about at its fiercest. Becky was out on the balcony, sitting cross-legged on one of the sun-loungers, reading a book. She was wearing a flowery shirt and a big straw hat, drinking something exotic with fruit in it.

'Hi, Cam,' she shouted through the open door, sounding much brighter now. 'You're soon back! Are you okay?'

I stayed deadpan, my hands in my pockets and very casual, as I walked through the door onto the balcony, looking around me like nothing much had changed. The balconies were stepped back so that, even outside the room, we could be in full sun nearly all day long if we wanted. Above us, window boxes spilled out waves of bright-red geraniums right back to the twelfth floor. Below us people were laughing and shouting and several children were crying loudly. Earlier, the noise had pissed me off. Now, as I pulled the big fancy brooch out of my pocket and placed it dramatically on the table, I didn't care about the noise any more.

Becky looked up at me, a mixture of delight and astonishment in her eyes.

Then, right on cue, I sensed the rush of air and the flap of wings, and reached out quickly to scoop it up again. The big green parrot dived across in front of us, squawked in frustration as it skimmed the empty table, and took off again angrily, over the side of the balcony and out across the pool.

There's your thief, Becky,' I crowed, unable to conceal a triumphant smile, as the bird alighted among the ferns at the top of a wizened old tree trunk.

Becky's mouth dropped open in surprise as, this time, I placed the brooch in her hand.

'A parrot? The thief was a bloody parrot?'

I grinned back. 'Yep. It suddenly came to me when we were standing in the garden. It's well known that magpies steal bright objects all the time, but I read somewhere that it can happen with any bird and, according to the hotel manager, there have been several instances of kleptomaniac parrots on the island. Once I'd tumbled, it was easy. I just watched the birds and it soon became obvious which one was the thief. Then your friend the gardener got a ladder and helped me retrieve your brooch - plus a diamond ring and a necklace - from the bird's favourite perch, that old tree trunk over there.'

Becky got up, shaking her head in amazed delight, and hugged me hard. 'Thanks, Cam, you're a star.' She was hardly breathing, almost too thrilled to talk, and there were tears in her eyes.

I smiled, pleased that the crisis was over, and Becky hugged me even harder and then laughed in real relief.

'You deserve a drink, if anyone does! Sit down, Cameron McGill, you fabulous private investigator. Take it easy. I'll be back in just a minute.'

Ten minutes later I swallowed a mouthful of ice-cold Campari and orange and lay back on the sun lounger, pulling the straw trilby down over my face and closing my eyes. I could feel the sun slowly turning my skin a deep shade of tan. I had the warmth of the sun, the taste of my favourite drink and the company of my best friend.

For the first time in four days I felt content and relaxed.

Becky was laid on her front next to me, happy again, the precious brooch locked away in the safe. Somewhere over the other side of the pool, two keepers from the island's parrot park were trying to entice the kleptomaniac bird down from its perch in the branches above.

Becky smiled across at me, hardly believing her luck.

'You're amazing, Cam, you know that.'

'Aw, yeah, I know,' I replied immodestly. 'But it's just what us top private eyes do all the time. Gather the evidence, put it all together and draw the right conclusions. I'm just fuckin' brilliant - everyone says so.'

I lifted the hat off my face, waiting for Becky's reaction, expecting her to throw something at me. But before she could do anything, before she could even say a word, the big green parrot swooped from the sky and skimmed over us again, cackling evilly as it flew off.

I groaned deeply. 'Becky...'

'Yes, Oh Wonderful One?'

'Hand me a tissue will you, please - something very wet has just landed on my face.'

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