Sandy, may I ask how old Jane is?” Sandy snapped her gum loudly. “Why, she’s 22. Aren’t you about that age?” “Exactly 22, yes.” Mary t...ought of Jane’s tired, grey face, her straggly, pepper-and-salt hair, her frail frame and veiny hands. She looked at Sandy’s knowing grin. Mary shook her head to clear her mind. She didn’t want to finish her thought, but Sandy wasn’t going to let it go yet. “You look a lot like her, actually.” And she snapped her gum again. Mary knew that wasn’t true. Yes,. I found myself lodgings with the Davis’s, Reg and Connie. They were a modest forty-something couple who used the income from lodgers to fund their annual holiday on the Costa Brava. Reg was an insurance collector, Connie was a dinner lady at a local school. Ordinary people you might have expected to find in any suburban semi-detached anywhere in the country. They treated me well, offering more hospitality than I was probably entitled to expect. My hobbies at that time were mainly. More

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