CHAPTER 3
At eighteen I was no longer an uncoordinated tomboy but had, to the dismay of my mother, morphed into an object of male admiration and desire; a change that I was eager to exploit.
My mother was beside herself with a mixture of disgust and envy.
‘Do you have to sleep with all of them?’
Her raised octave reverberated around the kitchen, bouncing off the metal saucepans hanging from their hooks like a badly tuned set of hand bells. Flapping the tea towel toward my face she used such force it cracked like a whip.
I smiled sweetly.
‘No, Mother, I don’t have to.’
My most useful conquest materialised whilst I was studying for my degree with the Open University. I’d chosen not to move away, mostly so that I could stay in close proximity to Munroe but also so that I could remain a
