Will you help me?”“Have you got gin?”“And tonic with elderflower, and lemons that have already been sliced.”“By you?”“Don’t be silly... darling.”“Okay, I’m in. What’s your plan?”“He’s scared of ghosts.”“Right.”“We convince him his house is haunted, so he moves.”I regard Mitzi, who exists in a liminal realm between joking and seriousness that is often hard to find one’s way around.“Haunted,” I repeat.“Yes. I’ve downloaded some pant-wettingly horrid ghost noises and bought a speaker system that is. The noise of the rain in the leaves fills my ears, the presence of another not even felt. My body jumps as fingers tips trace over the hair running down my cheeks. I look up startled, his eyes gazing at my tear stained face. He moves his hands and brushes away the hair that has now fallen into my eyes. His touch soft yet confident I take him in with my stare, his long black jacket hanging heavy from the weight of the rain, hair plastered against his chiseled face. His black denim jeans patchy. More

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