Food for thought

Two elderly women at Yo Sushi. They’ve both made an effort for their lunch date today. The English woman is dressed conservatively compared to the American, although she might not think so herself. She wears a navy lambs-wool sweater and heart-shaped diamante earrings, striped wide-legged trousers and plimsolls. Her skin is paper white. The American…

All that glitters

During the past two weeks I’ve been sleeping in a tent in a field on the south coast of Cornwall, in the place where my third novel is set. I’ve been holidaying with friends and family, and writing, and all the time making mental notes of the subtle changes in weather, the habits of local birds;…

What is love?

Recently, I’ve been thinking about love. My husband and I went to a wedding. ‘One of the last of the original,’ I said at the reception after a little too much champagne. ‘Next it will be second marriages.’ But the April sun shone down on us with its spring promise. We settled in our pew,…

The lost child

On the Southbank, in among the Carousel with its galloping horses and lurid colours, a woman runs up and down the concrete, calling for her child. I stop and watch as she searches the stairs, the benches, the crowds and faces, examining the same places, but seeing nothing but absence. ‘Louisa,’ she shouts. ‘Louisa.’ But…

Sex on the Underground

I notice a man on the platform at Liverpool Street Station because he looks at me in that way that certain men look at certain women. He either finds me attractive, or he’s a bit of a letch (or both), storing up snapshots of women he sees in public places for his Wank Bank back…