Sylve

Glitter on her eyes, sparkles on her coat, a mobile phone container studded with sequins  around her neck, Sylve stepped out of Natasha’s car at East Lodge. Was it two years? My old school prefect. The drama – for there was always a drama – was the death of her younger brother, Luke, the one we tried to find two years ago.

Rings on all fingers, 70’s disco balls on each ear.

Life is what happens when you make other plans

People either adore me or slab me in the back. No middle way here.

Denial is not a river in Egypt,

I collect her sayings. She’s written them on cards and shows them to Natasha (not to me), who finds good in all things, is gentle with her friend, and pays for her bus ticket to London. We book it together on line, Norwich to Victoria.

 

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