8
Prohibition
A couple of packets of crisps she had in her suitcase would fill the remainder of the gap that Veronica’s lovingly prepared sausage roll had failed to do, Emily was sure. As she walked back to her holiday let, she thought about the single telling phrase which had helped define the girl.
‘Peter is your boyfriend?’ Emily had asked.
A shrug. ‘Kind of. Well, maybe. No. I don’t know.’
Before Emily could clarify anything, Veronica had turned and disappeared into the kitchen. She was gone a long time, during which Emily finished the rest of the soggy, lukewarm sausage roll and drank her tea. Wondering if the girl had perhaps gone home, she got up, left a ten pound note on the counter—more than double the marked price—then called, ‘I’ll pop around in the morning!’ before heading
