“Look, Neil, is this about what I said the other week? About you needing to modernise things? I’ve got some ideas of how to get younger peo—”
“No,” he said, defensively. “This place used to just be guitars. String Theory, get it? I diversified. Made this work.
It’s just that when times are tough I can’t pay you to put off customers with your face looking like a wet weekend.”
“What?” “I’m afraid, Nora” – he paused for a moment, about the time it takes to lift an axe into the air – “I’m going to have to let you go.”
To Live Is to Suffer
Nine hours before she decided to die, Nora wandered around Bedford aimlessly.
The town was a conveyor belt of despair. The pebble-dashed sports centre where her dead dad once watched her swim lengths of the pool,
the Mexican restaurant where she’d taken Dan for fajitas, the hospital where her mum had her treatment.
Dan had texted her yesterday. “Nora, I miss your voice. Can we talk? D x”
She’d said she was stupidly hectic (big lol). Yet it was impossible to text anything else.
Not because she didn’t still feel for him, but because she did. And couldn’t risk hurting him again.
She’d ruined his life. “My life is chaos,” he’d told her, via drunk texts, shortly after the would-be wedding she’d pulled out of two days before.
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