I first met her at the flat in London when Wendy and I had been together for two years. I was made to move out to make room for her—the flat was tiny, two rooms, bathroom and a diminutive kitchen. I went the day before she arrived; all traces of my occupation of the flat were tidied away, my few clothes bundled into an old suitcase, my toothbrush secreted in the bathroom cupboard and my seaboots stuffed under the bed. My books were relegated to a top back shelf and out I went.
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