THE HERO WE NEEDED
High-pitched rings disturb our post-party morning lie in. Now that neither of us have to rush to work, we snuggle in bed until ten, usually. Lincoln starts to pound the side table, assuming it’s his alarm, until I realise it’s my ringtone. “Hello” I answer, groggily. “Oh dear, have I woken you? I thought you would be up to see the newspapers, since my darling girl is on the front page of them all”. Bolting straight up, my interest in the conversation takes precedence over the warmth of the duvet. She starts to list what the neighbours have said, and my second grade primary school teacher, and Donald the postman, even Sharon the hairdresser called up first thing, apparently to discuss my love life. These are the realities of living in a small village. Everyone shares everyone else’s bu
- Writer
