Chapter Seventy-Three
Chris rolled onto Edie’s pillow, inhaling it for the fiftieth time. It still smelled of her. Sometimes he opened her wardrobe, and took out her dresses, giving them a good sniff. He never wanted it to fade, but it was.
Rolling onto his back, he reached over to the bedside cabinet, picking up his packet of cigarettes. He slid one out, lit it, and sat up. His chest hurt. Coughing, he got up, pulled his jeans up, and walked out to the bathroom.
Relieving himself, while trying to avoid smoke in his eyes, Chris put his hand on the centre of his chest. It felt tight. Throwing the cigarette in the toilet bowl, he wheezed. “Right, that’s enough smoking.” He coughed, his chest still tight.
“Dad! Are you getting up today, or what? It’s almost lunchtime.”
“I’m coming, honey
