The Octopus Nest

In one photograph our blonde ghost was touching me. Her shoulder was pressed against mine in a crowded wine bar. Hay-on-Wye? No, Cheltenham. Another of Timothy’s literary holidays. I was holding

‘The Octopus Nest’, sets the book’s confident narrative tone … menacing enough to keep the pages turning, and astute enough about rocky relationships to make even the narrator wince.

I forced myself to calm down

I had no way of knowing.

Perhaps that was why we were always short of money.