Her family tells her that if she carries on behaving like this she will just be cut off. She laughs, imagining an old-fashioned will and testament being torn up. Until they don’t return her calls. Or answer letters. And what’s worse is she can’t remember who she is any more.
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She can’t deal with the wood pile. Can’t saw the logs, can’t bear to step on twigs. She’ll buy a tapestry surround to hide the hungry fire grate. Ever since that girl fell from the park slide. It wasn’t her screams so much as the snap as her leg broke.
When she'd said 'I slept like a log last night', they'd got the wrong end of the stick. Probably her fault. She was rubbish at everything. He said so. It was only at the post mortem when they saw the rings of scars around her trunk. By then, he'd scarpered.
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