By William Boyd

I have something of a strange relationship with Boyd.

I first encountered him via a booklet from Costa which provided excerpts from each of the winners in the five categories of their 2006 book awards. Boyd’s Restless won the accolade for best novel, so I bought it and greatly enjoyed it.

And that was that.

But, like a missing sock, he turned up in the most unexpected of places.

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Clare and I popped into a branch of Costa in Gloucester when we had some time to kill. We’d had a great day, save my ruining a top with a crashed motorcyclist’s blood. Still, dude was fine when the ambulance arrived … his bike wasn’t though. Interestingly enough, the speedometer showed that he’d taken a tight bend at 38 mph … during a rainstorm. That’ll be how he ended up crashing in front of me then …
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