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And it was fun to stand, holding her hand down at his side as if it were a secret, eyes forward but sensing her smile.
‘Crazy’, the old Patsy Cline song.
sentimental and munificent,
‘So walk me home, Mikey.’
so at least they were as bad as each other.
urge,
sublimated
frisky,’
he followed her up the path.
shedding privet,
bolted
in a tasselled shade,
swanky,’
got on with
choons!’
bopping
took a swig,
Their heads were crooked up at ninety degrees,
there was no doubt of the mutual enthusiasm.
underwiring of her bra,
reciprocate,
glee,
brushing against her hip
she disentangled herself,
he scrubbed at his hair with both hands,
‘make a run for it.’
she thought how handsome he looked and how much she wanted him.
It was from Natasha. Confused, he tapped the message and saw that he had completed and sent the draft earlier that night.
Possibly a mistake.
She packed the postcard. No Guests After 10, Please! It was a funny souvenir but she also had a secret, sentimental notion that it might someday have significance, become a future relic.
face down the landlady.
a pinched...
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no fr...
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an insolent swing
the local bad lad.
bas...
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floozy.
the Pennine ridge.
She had the illusion that they were walking not just across the country but through the seasons.
gorse flowers
fizz.
caul...
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writhing t...
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Even with her sore eyes and a hot, aching head, she felt that time was passing quickly and lightly and that a real summer, the first for many years, lay ahead. In the years of the great seclusion, she’d found herself wishing for the darkness so that she could justify going to bed. Now she wanted to prolong the days, to wish them brighter and to occupy them full...
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Nine Standards Rigg,’
‘marking the ancient border between Cumbria and Yorkshire.’
Despite the dry days the ground remained boggy, the path badly eroded, so she endeavoured to tread lightly, as if walking on a mopped floor.
her sweat carrying a sour, hoppy taint,
the jagged teeth revealed as cairns, intricate and sturdy but sinister even in th...
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the view to i...
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