‘Don’t you fucking tell her she needs these to look good in a dress,’ he shouts at the sales assistants. I hear one wet slap as a fillet presumably lands on the glass coffee table, then another. ‘Her figure is fucking perfect, and you know it. If you can’t stick to your job, which is picking out clothes and handing them to us, then you can get out and leave us to it. Do I make myself clear?’
