the awkwardness much worse for all of us.
And so I rarely left my room.
There was one girl in that house I was particularly
intimidated by – we all were.
A tiny German girl – a film student with an
impressive collection of designer vintage clothes.
She was a kleptomaniac.
Got caught shoplifting in M&S one time while wearing a
fur coat.
They didn’t call the police – she was so small and chic –
her crime was so bizarre – the security guard just said,
…but you can afford parsnips..?
And let her go.
I loved her accent – the way she said vagina with
a hard ‘g’ as in vigour.
She ate a lot of vegetables and little else.
She’d always have a pan of beetroots boiling on the hob.
She had this ancient baking tray, we weren’t
allowed to touch – worn and scratched, its black coating
peeling off.
She thought we didn’t notice but sometimes she’d
put the tray into the oven empty, then eat the bits of
coating that came loose.
The way she ate them, Ava – lifting those shards
of black – what, enamel? – Paper thin, savouring them as
though they were the rarest most delicious crisps… well,
I still think about it now,
wish I’d tried it.
She stole things in the house.
I’d hear the girls complaining that their
clothes or shoes or earrings had gone missing – though
never to her face.
She didn’t take my clothes or shoes,
but she used my towel most days.
She’d take it from my room or from the washing line,
then leave it on the floor outside my door when she was
done.
I did try hiding it
but she would find it while I was out at work.
Often I’d pass her on the stairs – fresh from the
