14th April 2011
All their plans were falling out of place.
Yazid had spent two hours yesterday with the Macmillan nurse filling out an application form for disability pay, Ali had had to take extra shifts at the beauty salon to cover the gap until the money started coming in again, and next week, Yazid would be going into hospital to begin chemotherapy.
Which was why there was an open sports bag on the sofa with nothing in it—Yazid simply couldn’t bring himself to pack.
He couldn’t bring himself to do anything, in fact. He felt exhausted and depressed, wrung-out and drained. He imagined this was how laundry felt after a savage spin cycle and then being put out to dry in a howling gale, and just knowing an iron wouldn’t be in their future before being stuffed back in a drawer.
…Maybe h
