twenty-three
For the rest of the day Elizabeth relaxed; she lounged on the sofa reading magazines, painted her toenails pink and watched an Alfred Hitchcock movie. It was nice to have the flat to herself for a change; there was no thumping music and loud computer games, just the distant sounds of traffic and the breeze ruffling the netting upwards at the open window. She hunted in the fridge, deciding on a chilli-con-carne for one for tea, with a nice bottle of red wine to wash it down with and a honeycomb crunch ice cream for pudding. After eating, she threw herself back down on the sofa. Tinkerbell snoozed at her feet as she flicked through the TV channels to see what she could watch next. Her phone pinged an incoming message. It was Melody, informing her that she was having a barbecue
