The Corpse of St James's
“‘It’s no go, D.,’ said Tom. ‘My Yeoman friend has taken himself off to Spain for a little holiday, and plans to stay for the running of the bulls in July. So says his daughter, who deeply disapproves of the whole thing.’ ‘I should say so! Oh, well, it was a thought. Thanks, anyway.’ Alan looked at me enquiringly.
‘The man’s gone to Spain.’ ‘Ah, well. Come to bed, love.’ I moped for much of the next day. In the afternoon Alan took himself out of the depressing atmosphere with the excuse of needing some exercise. I wandered around the house, picked up a book and put it down again, went into the kitchen to see if there was some comfort food around, left again in disgust, telling myself I’d just had enough lunch to choke a horse, and besides I was up two pounds the last time I dared weigh myself. I was about to find some straws to weave through my hair, à la King Lear, when a knock sounded at the back door.
Jane! Of course, Jane! She would listen to me, offer me pithy advice, make me feel better .
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