She wipes her mouth, her forehead, with the palm of her hand. Wipes her hand on the front of her blouse – not thinking.
I come and go as I please pretty much, except coming here was more of an escape than anything else.
So he decided to end it all by ploughing through the ornate 19th century railing, opposite the cafe where she worked, and into the dark waters of the River Yare.
Naked, except for a pair of black knickers with busted elastic, Callie walks across her bedroom floor – feet gliding over the worn, tan pile – to the alcove that houses her clobber.
He was always doing this, embarking on projects that he thought he’d whizz through only to become seriously bogged down.