24 Janna woke to find herself on the settee, her breath rising whitely as a reproving sun peered in through the window to dissect her hangover without the aid of anaesthetic. Pearl’s mother’s green handkerchief dress was her only protection against the bitter cold. Whimpering and wailing, she pieced together last night’s broken dreams. How could she have nearly tipped wine over Cindy Payne, sworn at Col Peters and Hengist, who’d made such a lovely speech about her, then driven home plastered? As a contrast to such anarchic behaviour, she caught sight of the green and gold serenity of Graffi’s mural of Larkshire. He had worked so hard. But now she had stormed out on Hengist, Graffi and his pals would no longer get the chance to run joyously on Bagley’s green and pleasant pitches or blossom in art studio, library or concert hall. She had blown it for them and she’d never see Hengist again. Staggering to her feet, she noticed Pearl’s make-up all over the recently upholstered coral settee.
