Chapter Twenty-Five
Sloe Gin
There is a time for lighting and a time for putting out a fire and that is not the same time.
Imogen came to my house; apparently she stood at the front door and knocked and when no one answered, she came around the back “where all the noise was coming from”.
She pushed open the side gate and ploughed through the muddy drive in her heeled leather boots and came across Betty, the Bag Lady, Mavis, and Iona along with yours truly sitting by the fire. We were all laughing as Betty read from the scrapbook. Imogen stood at the edge of the lawn, slim and elegant despite the flick marks of mud on her shoes and skirt, waiting for someone to notice her.
“Dear Deidre,” read Betty.
“Hello,” shouted Imogen.
No one answered, we didn’t even look up as Betty continued
