With its lid flung wide, her suitcase displayed woeful contents thrown together in haste.
Make-up, a spare b*a and two remaining pairs of knickers sat in the cavernous space. She’d grabbed the wrong leggings, Logan’s shirt to use as a nightdress and one of his pullovers. Hana sat on the bed to rue her packing skills and woke up five hours later.
Her back ached, she’d laid on her left arm until it was numb and soaked her shoulder with dribble. Stumbling along to the kitchen felt like scaling Kilimanjaro.
Izzie and Marcus sat at the table and Elizabeth sang to herself in her high chair. Her fingers clasped a hunk of bread smeared in something brown and gooey. “Ugh, Marmite!” Hana exclaimed, putting her hand up to her mouth and considering the likelihood of vomiting. “Izzie, how could you?
