Chapter 7I find it difficult to drag myself away from Marjorie and Patricia. I'd much rather stay home all afternoon instead of driving up some mountain track in the middle of nowhere. When I do leave, I arrive at the car park to meet Paul nearly ten minutes late. He is leaning against the perimeter wall, with his legs crossed at the ankles, munching an ice cream cornet.
I call to him through the open window. “That looks good,” I say.
“It is,” he replies.
“What flavour is it?” I ask.
“'Gingembre'.”
“That's my favourite,” I say.
“Yes, I know,” he replies. “That's why I bought it.”
“Did you not buy one for me?”
“Yes, I did,” he says popping the last morsel into his mouth. “That was it. I've just finished it and it was delicious. I had chocolate ice cream.”
He laughs at the dismayed
