I have precisely fifteen minutes till take-off. Hair, skin, fingernails dirty, no make-up, cat-litter armpits, gorgonzola cleavage. And nothing to wear. Nothing in chest of drawers but an old Bart Simpson T-shirt and some leggings. Leggings? When did I ever wear leggings? No time to think. Nice M...
She swims up out of sleep, heavy as though lead weights have been attached to her limbs. The clock reads 3:17. Her mouth is dry and furry. There's a small figure in the doorway. She smacks her lips together, unglues her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “What is it, baby? What's up?” “Can I get ...
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘There you are.’ Rufus doesn’t seem to want to look at me. Looks, instead, at the drinkers by the bar. Fifi has come in with him and is sitting by his ankles, and no-one has a word to say about it. ‘Thanks so much for looking after her,’ he says. ‘Bit of a mix-up at home, I’m afraid....