The open suitcase lies on the floor. Her head’s stuck in the wardrobe, she’s throwing items of clothing in the general direction of the carry-on. Shorts, bikini tops and sundresses litter her bed.
‘You can’t leave.’
‘I’ve booked my flight. Jilly’s expecting me.’
She darts out, almost slips on a flip-flop and collects a print-out from the desk. Her plane ticket.
‘Please,’ I plead. ‘I’ll stop treating you like a child.’
She scoops up the mess and dumps it into the suitcase.
‘Remember what you said when you moved out? We’ll finally get on. I’m only returning the favour, love.’
(loosely based on the prompt of this week’s 100 word challenge for grown-ups)