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Daniel had noticed that the first truck pushing the plough down their lane was painted with the SandRock Corporation logo and marked as ‘motorway maintenance’. The village was a long way from the motorway, including twenty-odd miles of narrow twisting country lanes. Perhaps it was coincidence, but it seemed odd that his tiny lane was cleared while others of his neighbours weren’t touched. Perhaps Lady Barbara was calling in some favours, or it was Sir Philip, looking after his wife, even though their relationship was strained? This follow-up gritter lorry was marked with the same livery, and the driver wore the SandRock’s logo on his yellow fluorescent jacket.“Bugger,” Matt exclaimed, as he examined the damage. The old cast iron post was bent slightly, but still alight, so no damage to the electrics, but the glass or plastic lamp cover was hanging down from its mountings and swaying. It appeared to be held by the rubber seal and could fall down at any time in a heavy wind. He climbed. Jason finished up his beer, and I told him there was more in the fridge. He left the room to get more for all of us, and Paul continued to speak. About 20 minutes later, we were all on our 4th or 5th beers, and the conversation was tuning to a more personal nature. Ceez was asking me how often I swim, and telling me that I had lovely legs. I smiled, and at that point the whole conversation seemed to focus on me.I was a bit tipsy, when Paul, sitting beside me placed his hand on my leg. I looked up at him, and tried to move my leg back, but he only gripped it tighter, smiling. I set my beer on the coffee table, and grabbed his hand to pull it away. His grip was unbreakable. Jason, who was now sitting on my other side, began to caress my other leg. At this point, I said, "Just what the fuck do you think you fuckers are doing?!"With their hands still caressing my legs tightly, Paul said, "Shut the fuck up bitch, and just maybe we won't hurt you." I looked at Ceez and Rob sitting across.
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