Description
The wine has been drunk, the pasta demolished, three- quarters of the tiramisu polished off. . .
Were you to peer through the window you might think you were looking at a group of old friends laughing, catching up, having a wonderful time, never seeing the gossamer thin threads of grief that are woven between them, that have brought them together again after all this time.
Look a little more closely and you'll see the way the brunette Holly has a tendency to drift off into space. How she'll gaze into her wineglass, lost in a memory, a tear welling up in the corner of one eye; how the blonde. . .
Saffron will lean over and ask gently if she's okay, lay a hand softly on her arm with a squeeze; how Holly will nod her head with a smile as she blinks the tear away and gets up to clear a dish that doesn't yet need clearing, wash a bowl that doesn't yet need washing.
Observe how the thin girl with the short, mousy bob watches them both with concern, her eyes softening as she sees how Saffron is able to comfort, how after all this time apart Saffron doesn't feel the slightest bit awkward about reaching out and making Holly feel better.
There is a part of Olivia that wants to be able to do this too, but she has spent years trying to find comfort in her skin, in who she is . . . .
