The doorbell drew no response; likewise Franklin’s bangs on the front door. Exasperated, he fought his way through a dense garden bed and had to extract rose thorns from his jeans. He peered through the living room window and bombed out. The front bedroom window yielded nothing either. He rapped on the rear door and tried its handle, then swore in immense frustration.
Every time he made progress, something got in the way.
Georgie focused on Pam Stewart, Ruby Padley and Susan Pentecoste. Three warm, extraordinary women, all very different – she owed it to them to persevere.
A swipe of clammy palms on jeans, then she wrapped arms across her chest against the sudden autumn chill and the more invasive one inside.
She inhaled.
Right, I’m ready. Bring it on.
Right, I’m ready. Bring it on.F
