Banksworth had appeared one evening, the worse for alcohol with yet another timid young employee in tow. She was a sweet looking ginger haired girl of...about nineteen, who would not have looked out of place in pigtails and white socks; she was that young and vulnerable. Anne grimaced when she saw the girl; the fear in her eyes was so apparent. She desperately wanted to assist in some way, but her jaw ached as if to remind her of the volatility of the man she had had the misfortune to marry. She. Strange things had happened to her ever since. When she was six and the class bully stole her biscuits at lunch, new ones appeared out of thin air in front of her. When she was seven and forgot to do her maths homework, it somehow did itself while sitting in her backpack. A small, relatively harmless tornado had somehow descended upon a few boys who were chasing her when she was eight. That incident was what caused most of the other kids her age to steer clear of her. There was one. More

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