I’d browse Instagram like an addict, staring at pictures of perfect celebrities and wondering how they could look so effortlessly beautiful. Inevita...ly, I’d bring up pictures of my dad and gaze at them, half-afraid I might begin to forget what he looked like.He’d always smelt like smoke but I loved the smell of it because it was all I’d ever known from him. He never drank. But he smoked. He smoked and smoked and smoked. Whenever anyone he knew went on holiday, he’d cajole them into getting him. ’ I reach for the new skirt and while behind a shuttle bus slide it on. I breathe a sigh of relief and then reach into the glove compartment for my perfume. I spray it a couple of times and roll the windows down. My father smiles as I pull up. I get out and run over to him and give him a hug and kiss. My mother gives me a very stern look before giving me a kiss. She reaches behind me and takes the tag off my shirt. ‘Am I going to meet this boy?’ ‘Uh, no.’ ‘Christ, I’ve raised a whore.’ I look. More

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