Chapter Fourteen
Saint Helen
I hadn’t had s*x for so long I felt androgynous, ugly, boring. I hardly went out because I had little to wear that made me feel good, and all my friends simply loved Henry.
A few days after Beatrice’s train wreck of a protest at the community centre, I helped her build a bonfire for the burning of the egg boxes. When I say helped, I mean obeyed, as she instructed like I had never built a bonfire before.
Her way took half a can of petrol, a packet of firelighter, and a few half-used candles from under the sink. The dust was probably more flammable than the ancient candles.
If Beatrice had listened to me, the fire would have gone up with a flick of a match, but one thing you learn when living within bossing distance of Beatrice is when to argue and when it’s
