Chapter 8
The room’s new entrant froze in the doorway, lips parted to display a neat row of white teeth topped by a pair of disbelieving brown eyes. Her cup of coffee tilted at a dangerous angle so the liquid dripped onto the floor. Her hand shook and her face morphed into deep disapproval tinged with dismay. “You’re all mental!” she hissed, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t take any more of it.”
Hana cast around looking for someone to defend the apparent madness. Pete bent double, inspecting a dubious stain in the middle of his Superman ‘S’ and sighing. Sheila shrugged and disappeared into her office, slamming the door after muttering, “Who cares?”
The woman’s head bobbled on her shoulders as she pushed past Hana. With a trembling hand she laid her dripping coffee on what used to be
