The Lady hadn’t left the house in 200 days. She must get out, her shrink said, for the furtherance of her mental health. She risked becoming a modern Miss Havisham if she didn’t jump back in the saddle (his words) and soon.
Squinting over a plate of flowers at the Ikebana exhibition, bald and stooped, scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, she saw Harry for the first time. Well, she thought, he’s as good as anybody.
“Would you like to get a sausage roll and tea?” she asked, bold as brass.
Odd – the things flowers make you say.