19
“My arm is itching,” complained Lisa for the fifth time that evening.
She looked down at the stitches, tempted to scratch them.
“Leave it alone,” berated her best friend, Emma, as she passed Lisa a glass of wine. “It will never heal if you keep messing with it.”
It was the eve of Emma’s wedding, and there was a nervous excitement building. The house was full of people talking and laughing; aunts, uncles and grandparents, eager to offer pre-wedding wishes. Wedding clothes hung on every available space, shiny shoes were placed neatly in their boxes underneath each outfit, it was ultra-organised and typical Emma. Lisa had arrived early evening with her bag of underwear and toiletries. She was staying for the night with Emma at her parent’s house, along with the two other little bridesm
