Keep It in the Family

by John Marrs

I know that I wear a different, tougher skin now to the one I was born into, but scratch beneath the surface and below I am that same, frightened child.

Finn wasn’t a fashion photographer with a man bun and a contacts book that could get me into A-list parties; his parents weren’t titled and living in a country pile; he didn’t spend his weekends bar-hopping with the Chelsea set. He was regular with a capital R. And I was beginning to realise I liked normal.

There’s something special about a girl who won’t follow the crowd, refuses to jab herself with Botox and lip-fillers and doesn’t only eat salads to stay Instagram-skinny.

Sorry Jesus, you are wasting your time. It should be me who is forgiving you for ignoring us all those years.

If she continues to poke at the wasps’ nest, she will end up getting stung.