Eight years old

‘That’s the one, Mum. That’s the one who hates me.’ To my careful eyes, the child at the top of the slide, laughing, head thrown back, looks adventurous, not like a bully at all. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. What makes you...

Imagine living with her

Her emails tumble down the screen white spaces, large fonts, seductive subject lines; and yet her voice makes me think of birds in the mornings in the weeks before daylight saving kicks in.