Sep 19, 2008 | Fiction |
Post addressed to Jonathan Fitch came through my letter-box, and that was who I was. I had a National Insurance number and an account at Lloyds; I had a shoe size and a blood type and a bunch of keys. I was twenty-eight years old and not too bad looking; in the past,...
Sep 8, 2008 | Fiction |
When I turned on the lights the place came out of the darkness like an animal caught in the headlamps of a car. All the plants whose names I’d forgotten reproached me silently; the Russian vine looked moribund. ‘Sorry,’ I said. I filled a jug and...
