Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Christmas Do
Never turn your back on a friendly face; it may be the last you see.
The fire was dying down and so, it seemed, was the Bag Lady’s patience with Betty.
She was winding down for the night and when she does she has no interest in listening and if not left alone she sings louder and louder like a child putting her fingers in her ears. She started to sing, she knew it annoyed Betty.
“Just my foot,” Betty said. “That’s all you see, after all that practice; my right bloody foot!”
“I thought it was your hand?”
“Mavis is livid, she says after all the support that her and Lumpy gave Imogen the least she could have done was give her a place to show off her toned stomach.”
“Performing is not about the artist!” muttered the Bag Lady.
I was in the shed at
