17
It was the clanking of the radiator in the front hall that woke her. One arm was stretched out, her cheek pressed against it, the metal coil of her spiral notebook pressing into the underside of her arm. She tasted hair in her mouth.
She’d fallen asleep over her homework. Slowly, Elisabeth raised her head, pulling strands of hair out of her face, blinking into the dim gray light of early morning.
The radiator clanked again, and she heard the groan of the boiler in the cellar as it rumbled under her feet. She was at the kitchen table, the light on, a cold cup of tea on the table beside her. Her eyes were sandy, her neck ached. Her notebook was filled with random, nonsensical squiggles trailing off the page where she’d tried to take notes but had dozed off. The stack of library books w
