4.8
Back at the house, Yvette collected Friday’s post from the letterbox and followed Heather inside. In the kitchen she scanned the envelopes. A telephone bill, a bank statement, and one stamped with the Department of Immigration’s official crest. She was caught in an eddy of anticipation and dread. She couldn’t open the letter. She clutched it in both hands and worried at the stuck-fast fold, levering and flattening the corners over and again.
She watched Heather trudge back and forth unloading the car.
When Heather had placed the last box on the kitchen table, she grabbed her keys and purse and without looking round she said, ‘Popping to the shop for milk. Need anything?’
Yvette mumbled a quiet no.
When she heard the front door close she sat at the kitchen table and pulled out the
