Not even in front of my mum. Somehow it seems OK with Simon though. How can that be? I am dimly aware that he is talking again. “A friend!” he say..., in a voice more forceful than any he has used before. “They thought that you might need a friend. To talk to… and stuff.” “Uucouggh.” I make a hideous noise, attempting to acknowledge his comment, but it coincides with a huge sniff, to prevent whatever is running out of my nose dripping down my top lip. “It's OK,” he says reassuringly, as he puts. I just had to get up and go to see what was going on. All three were in the shower scrubbing furiously at Sami's painted body. It was difficult to see whether they had made any improvement, it simply looked as though she had turned bright red. They were laughing, clinging onto each other, dropping the soap. Sami was swearing, twitching and generally making a fuss. "Never again, fucking paint, it's never going to come off." I got on the phone and ordered some coffee and sandwiches as I. More

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