I turn to Frances and ask whether she works in a place like that, and she says, ‘no, I’d never remember the feeding times.’
they are considered to be the habits of the unhinged by the rest of the world, yet are not even questioned as the right way to describe things by us.
Instead of responding to the offer I ask what the job will entail and Roger says, ‘promotions.’
I ask mother if there’s anything I can do to help with the preparations and she says, ‘you could try eating a few satsumas.’
He asks about me, and I do that thing where I don’t quite render my recently surrendered position in the past tense.
Mini-clubman settles on the bar stool next to mine and threatens a conversation.
Perhaps that is an answer, to know that. I could apply for a job to manage people like her. The enthusiasm evaporates before I reach the end of the thought.