‘Just want to pick up my stuff. Your dad in?’
‘No. I’m by myself. I made…’
‘I can’t. Gotta be places.’
My stomach roars.
‘Have one, okay?’
I love her pancakes. But it’s late. Her dad meant it when he said I’d not leave this place alive if I showed my face again.
‘Okay, one. I’ll fetch the DVDs. Be right there.’
I sneak out. On the way home, one final time, I enjoy the view from Primrose Hill.
I wrote this for this week’s Micro Bookends. I’ve been meaning to write something for the challenge for a few weeks. I am not going to post this one to the site, though, because I won’t have time to comment on stories this week. And now I’d better go and pack a few more boxes – I’m moving house tomorrow…