Land of the Living
“I grabbed clothes from wherever I could find them — a pair of old jeans from the bin-bag, an itchy, dark-blue sweater from the drawer, some scuffed trainers, that old pair of scrunched-up black knickers. At least they were clean. On the shelf above the bath I found a hairband, so I was able to tie up my wet hair with trembling hands.
Terry was sitting in the wicker chair in the corner of the living room. In the wicker chair I’d bought in a second-hand shop in the high street one rainy Sunda...y morning. I’d even carried it back myself, using it as an umbrella. He leant forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. The ashtray I’d taken with me as a souvenir from a café where I’d once waitressed. He took another cigarette from the packet lying on the table and lit it. With his copper hair, his pale skin, he looked beautiful, the Terry I had first met. It was when he started to talk that problems began.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m all right?’ I said.MoreLess
Terry was sitting in the wicker chair in the corner of the living room. In the wicker chair I’d bought in a second-hand shop in the high street one rainy Sunda...y morning. I’d even carried it back myself, using it as an umbrella. He leant forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. The ashtray I’d taken with me as a souvenir from a café where I’d once waitressed. He took another cigarette from the packet lying on the table and lit it. With his copper hair, his pale skin, he looked beautiful, the Terry I had first met. It was when he started to talk that problems began.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m all right?’ I said.MoreLess
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