So my mother stood in a register office in a coat she had bought specially, crying, while her daughter said four paragraphs about honesty — and the arrangement we now have is that neither of us is ever going to mention it.
She paid for that coat. It was a hundred and ninety pounds. She told me the price twice at the time because she was pleased with it.
Sabine.
We are not friends and I am not going to pretend we are.
We have met four times.
The first was in the December, in a café in Ellersby, which she asked for, and which I nearly did not go to.
And she said one thing in that café that reorganised the whole of it for me.
She said: “I came three hours early because I was frightened of arriving on my own.”
I had read that as a woman staking a claim on my kitchen.
