‘How are you?’

{

tired

anxious

unappreciated

terrorised by your to-do list

sick of doing all the hard work your obscenely overpaid boss then takes credit for

hungry but on the latest diet

dating the wrong man but it’s better than being lonely

not reading enough books, not going to enough live gigs

and look at the time, lunch break’s as good as over – in a hurry again

}

‘Fine.’ You force a smile. ‘Just fine. Yourself?’

A pause, a slow intake of breath and you wonder what kinds of truths she dismisses as unsayable before she, too, settles for the lie.