“Can we not talk about p*****s?” said Troga. “It makes me go a bit peculiar. The nuns used to smack us with rulers if we even used the word undercarriage.”
Marc’s voice was now tinged with desperation. “Can we steer the conversation away from—back to symbols of loss. Horley, you were about to tell us which were the small things that brought your loss home to you?”
I sat there, trying to ignore Natasha holding up her hands again, silently measuring some unlikely invisible length.
“I think I miss having someone to discuss things with,” I said carefully.
There was a murmur of agreement.
“I mean, I’m not one of those people who has a massive circle of friends. I was with my last boyfriend for ages and we . . . we didn’t really go out much. And then there was . . . Bill. We just used to ta
