The doll’s eyes judge me. Whenever I see a customer out – I refer to them as gentlemen callers but it’s a euphemism, most aren’t at all gentle – it shakes its head in disapproval. It mimics the expression on Grandpa’s face when he came to pick me up from the A&E and found me wearing provocative nothing and slutty make-up.
He gave me the doll for being such a good girl while Mum was dying of cancer. I was too old for it even then.
I should bin it. But I need a reminder of my good girl days.