IT’S JUST A PHASE
High at noon, the sun glares down on a desert of concrete and brick. Blinding, even behind my sunglasses. I shuffle my plastic chair into the narrow strip of shade cast by what might as well be a handkerchief of sail cloth. The other three women gathered on the balcony seem content to let their exposed skin burn. Seated to my left is Bethany. She’s arranged an extended lunchbreak from the bank to discuss her daughter Hannah’s part in this. Bethany looks prim in her banking uniform, thick hair pinned back from her neatly made-up face. We were in the same class in primary school. She hasn’t changed. She’s as exacting now as she was in Year 3, quibbling over the width of a margin in her maths book.
Karen squeezes past me to take up the chair to my right. Her lace-trimmed T
