“Got up 8.30 a.m. Washed, dressed, had breakfast. 1 p.m. had lunch. 4 p.m. had tea. 7 p.m. had supper. Went to bed 8.30 p.m. Nothing happened.’ Tuesday’s entry was exactly the same, and so was Wednesday’s, except that the meal times were omitted. But every day, ‘nothing happened’. The following week was blank but for the Monday when she had merely recorded getting up. Thereafter the pages were empty as if even the appetite to inscribe ‘nothing happened’ had deserted her. In fact, after the first... week of her retirement, Miss Hawkins had largely stayed in bed as a simple solution to day-swallowing. But on the sixth day, the primal needs of hunger drove her out to view the empty bread-bin and jampot. It was a moment of decision. One way of dying was not to eat, and one way of fasting was not to buy food. It would be a slow and painful demise, but not slow enough to span the five blackmailing years her former colleagues had given her. The diary lay locked on the kitchen table.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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