It had been washed so many times that it was now a bit threadbare. I looked in the mirror I could just see the change of colour of my areolae. The ski...t that I chose was again an old one that I hadn’t worn for years. It was a skater skirt that I’d worn just about every day one summer 3 or 4 years ago and when I tried it on the previous night I discovered that the elasticated waist was losing its elasticity but it still stretched enough for me to get it on.Looking in the mirror and being happy. ‘Who was that man?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I replied with that same hushed tone. As though whispering we could lessen the import of the conversation. ‘I can still see his face.’ ‘What? What are you talking about?’ ‘When you went outside he looked at me through the back window. I don’t know how he could have. It was dark and raining, but he did. He looked straight at me, and when I close my eyes, sometimes I can still see his face.’ ‘It’s ok,’ I said, knowing of course that it wasn’t. As the silence. More

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