My hair would not get dry as quickly as I needed it to. Luckily, sinceAnne had shortened it for me last night, my ponytail could hang loose,so it didn't matter that it was still a bit damp. A hair-dryer was addedto my mental shopping-list for the arrival of funds from Dave. It wasraining outside and apparently I didn't own an umbrella. I fished thehood of my anorak out of its collar before rushing out and down thestairs with only one minute to go before my bus was due. I ran throughthe rain, clutching my hood tight and wondering how wet my skirt wasgetting.There was no sign of the bus when I got round the corner onto the mainroad. I checked my little narrow watch which said there was a stillminute to go. I longed to shelter in the little bus-stop but I could seea letter-box across the street, so I kept running, dodging the traffic,to post my letter to my alter-ego. The bus was slowing for the stop whenI started back, so I dashed across, frightened but reveling in my youthand fitness.. I tried to avoid Rory without being obvious. She busied herself going out with her girlfriends or having them over, the house full of laughter and brightness and music. Occasionally, when on her own, she’d knock on the office door mid-afternoon and finagle me into taking a swim with her when the sun was at its most intense. I did. I behaved. And we had fun.But...Yesterday after the swim, I dropped into the patio chair to sun dry, feeling relaxed from an hour in the water, and Rory asked, “Would you like a drink?”I nodded. “That would be great.”“Beer?” she asked with a grin.She knew I rarely drank alcohol. I was an easy drunk. A few drinks and I’d be feeling it, my morals and tongue loosening.“Bottled water, please,” I answered.“You’re no fun,” she accused lightly. Two minutes later, she handed me an icy cold spring water bottle. “Here ya go.”Rory sat at the patio table, turned her face up to the sun, popped open her Coke and sipped, sighing with pleasure. She brought her knees up,.
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