“‘How would you like your bacon, darlin’?’ she enquired, smiling sweetly, when she removed the cornflake bowl. She was about eighteen, not exactly pretty, but with big, velvety brown eyes. Her brown hair was badly cut, as if she’d hacked it off herself. ‘Well, I don’t like it crisp.’ ‘Neither do I. I’ll do it medium, shall I? I won’t be a jiffy.’ The dining room was every bit as miserable as the bedroom, possibly worse, with a depressing painting of a frantic-looking stag in the middle of a fore...st hanging above the blocked-up grate. There were only five other people there: a middle-aged couple, two Chinese girls and an elderly man who wished her good morning when she entered. Fion sat in the window and ordered cornflakes, bacon and egg, and a pot of tea. Having this admittedly small control over her life gave her a heady feeling of adult responsibility. The girl arrived with a slice of pink bacon, a neatly fried egg and half a tomato on a plate, as well as a rack with four triangular slices of toast.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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