‘I think I’ve been very patient.’
‘Yes,’ Paula said. ‘You have.’
‘So when are you moving over here? When are you coming to your senses?’
Paula looked out of the window. It was raining again, a soft veil of rain drifting across the grass.
‘Never,’ she said. ‘No. Probably never.’
It was joyous, dancing in the rain. No one saw her. When she was soaked through she went inside, smiling to herself and made toast. Four slices. Buttered them. Ate them, watching the rain mist the windows of the lean-to. The broken pane was still patched with the plywood Adrian had taped over it.
One day, she would get it properly fixed.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Hunger
Susan Hill, Hunger
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