“I love you, Horley. Did I tell you that? I really do love you. You’re the only one who . . .”
“You can’t just collapse here like—”
“Mmph . . . disco nap . . .”
She didn’t move.
I touched her shoulder. “Lily . . . Lily?”
She let out a small snore.
I sighed, waited a few minutes, then carefully removed her tatty pumps, and the contents of her pocket (cigarettes, mobile phone, a crumpled fiver), which I took into my room. I propped her onto her side in the recovery position, and then finally, wide awake at 3 a.m. and knowing that I would probably not sleep for fear she would choke, sat on the chair, watching her.
Lily’s face was peaceful. The wary scowl, and the manic, overeager smile had stilled into something unearthly and beautiful, her hair fanned around her shoulders. Maddening a
