[emailprotected]:
You are speaking to Kate, your travel expert.
How can I help you today?
Hannah Davies:
I have a question about the sales.
[emailprotected]:
Sure! Fire away, Hannah!
WhileHannah Davies is typing…I check the sales myself. They’re better than last year’s. I almost laugh when I see the direct flight to Perth is on sale too: only a few hundred pounds and I could be outside your prison gates. It would be so easy. And so hard.
I glance at my phone: no messages. I pull a chunk from my fingernail. If Mum knew I’d just checked the flight prices to Perth, she’d be marching me round to Dad’s flat for an intervention. And Dad would smile at me with his wide, blinking eyes, like he always does now, like he doesn’t know me anymore, like he’s some sort of mole. But then, maybe he never did know me. Maybe no one did. Mum and Dad would prefer the other thoughts I have about skinning you alive, or tying you to a tree, leaving you to roast, the way you left me.
I’d make you suffer. I’ve stood many times in the home-wares section of John Lewis, looking at the chef’s knives, wondering how firmly a person might need to press to kill. If Rhiannon knew this, she’d have me back on the hard meds.
Hannah Davies:
I see there’s a Red Fare that goes to Bangkok, Sydney, Auckland, LA. Tell me about that.
I copy and paste the standard response. Hannah pings back.
Hannah Davies: