![]() ![]() Her dad had been a docker and her mother still stacked shelves in a supermarket.Īlthough it was dark, the air remained hot and the fire in the pit was there for effect, and to toast marshmallows, not because it was needed. ![]() Jen was a Liverpudlian and carried the idea of class with her like a badge of honour. She found herself mesmerized by the rhythm of the flashing fairy lights that Cynthia had strung along the high brick wall and woven between the ivy and climbing roses.Ĭynthia’s place was the kind of gaff to have a wall around it: a large detached house looking out over Rock Park, only a few hundred yards from Jen’s narrow terraced home, but a million miles in terms of class. Jen could smell cut grass and honeysuckle, the scent intense, heady and oversweet. The party had moved outside, become quieter and less frenetic. They were in Cynthia Prior’s garden, lounging on the grass, and it was just getting dark. ![]()
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