See, I promise, I’m not going to touch you.’ ‘Stay over there!’ ‘OK.’ he walked over to the dresser, and leaning against it, asked again....‘You going to tell me why those men were after you? Why they just walked into the pub looking for you with guns, and why my car now has no back window?’ Sitting up, she looked across at him. He was a slim wiry man, she guessed in his late thirties, with short black hair, and a rough hard face. Not handsome, but very masculine, dark stubble covered his lean. He also had become a real friend, the Wednesday’s in the booth taking on a surreal quality of being alone and together, like sitting in a dark pub with a large ale and talking to, but not being able to see, the person sitting next to you. So on quite a few days, I let myself skip, and swing my arms, even though that’s silly. But it made sense. I had a great boyfriend, who had been healthier for months, and now a good friend who was very supportive, a job that was relatively low stress. I even. More

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