Sublime

She was Melissa’s oldest, boldest friend. They had gone to the same primary school. Hazel worked in advertising. She had a wide and glamorous smile behind which was an oft-foul tongue, and long, bouncing, half-French, half-Ghanaian curls falling down her back, the most beautiful, the most envied of their schoolgirl pack, the one the boys always wen

“Dov,” she said. “Would you mind …?” She shook her chain.

“I’ll be seeing you, Charlie.” I dig my hands into my pockets. “You sure will.” “Okay.” “Fine.” “Great.” A ghost of a laugh slips from between her lips, “unbelievable” whispered under her breath. She gives me one last look and then wanders in the opposite direction, shoulders back, chin up. “Pretend this never happened,” she yells over her shoulder