Dionne Lister

“Can I get a regular skim cap?” I didn’t get coffee here every day—because I had my coffee machine, or used to have—how depressing—but I visited regularly enough that they knew me. Sometimes I wanted something frothy with chocolate on the top, and I was too lazy to do that at home. Frances was in her mid-thirties, had gorgeous straight blonde hair, which was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and an infectious smile. “Hey, chicky. Coming right up. A little birdie told me it was your birthday yesterday. Happy birthday!” She banged used coffee grounds out of the thingamajig and filled it with new ones. “Aw, thanks. Did you run into the girls last night?” The girls being my besties, Sophie and Michelle. “Yep. How come you weren’t there? They told me you piked.” She screwed the thingamajig into the machine and pressed the button. And wouldn’t you know, it worked. I wish my machine still worked. “Big day photographing a wedding. One drink and I would have fallen asleep.” I laughed—it wasn’t too far from the truth. So what if I left out the bit where I had a pity party because my brother hadn’t called. I’d try calling him later. Knowing him, he had a good”
― Dionne Lister, Witchnapped in Westerham

“Winston Churchill lived here for many years. Have you heard of him?” “Wasn’t he some fat guy who owned a sweet shop?” Her eyes widened in definite horror. I laughed. “Just joking. I’m not an idiot. He was your prime minister during the Second World War. He was the one who brought in the eight-hour working day and minimum wage, and he said cool things like ‘The price of greatness is responsibility.”
― Dionne Lister, Witchnapped in Westerham