He, Lionel Gammel, was a brilliant director but also a man who believed art was good for communities and instead of going to Hollywood or the west-end...where he would no doubt have made a fortune, he had chosen to work in less auspicious surroundings, doing what he loved for the people around him. I loved him and occasionally did a show for him at mate’s rates (which Flick pretended to frown on). Lionel had called me. “Faye, I need your help.” “It’s not the goats again?” He laughed. “No, it’s. Damn! I was so close! I shout inside my head. Outside, I smile and nod sweetly, sitting up and trying not to think of the hairbrush inside my aching cunt. “Sure, dad. What do you need?” I wonder through my teeth. Maybe it’ll be small so I can finish. “Nothing big, I just wanted you to know dinner is almost ready. Your mother needs you to go help her finish up.” He replies, placing his hand on my knee. “Sure, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right down,” I smile. I sit silently, staring at him. More

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