TWELVE
Sandra Baker seemed taller than Emma remembered, or perhaps it was the sight of long legs striding down a paved pathway that gave an impression of above-average height. As she moved closer, Emma could see that her hair, shaved following her arrest, had begun to grow back, although unlike Jack’s spikes, Sandra’s sculptured head bore a neat covering of tight, black curls. Colour blazed from her clothes: swirls of gold and scarlet adorning a white tunic with matching knee-length shorts, while a pair of gold sandals sparkled despite the weak sun struggling to escape a rain-washed sky. A large multi-coloured bag hung from one shoulder, it swayed back and forth as she walked, creating eddies of burnt orange and black.
Emma felt insipid in her faded floral skirt and plain white blouse, c
