Delphine Jones Takes a Chance

I really wanted to tell someone about that night, that perfect night, when everything went right. Not Sheba or Marni, because my interactions with them were always laced with sarcasm, loaded with studied nonchalance. Someone who would really listen, squeeze my hand tight and say, 'It sounds like he's really into you!' but follow it up with 'You will be careful, won't you?' There was no one to say it, which was maybe why I wasn't careful at all, why I thought the golden glow would last, and cocoon me. So I didn't shade my eyes, checking for pitfalls. I just blundered into the light, not looking where I was going, dazzled and entirely blind.

Edging past her into a small, cluttered kitchen, I was greeted by a fluffy black-and-white cat who wove around my ankles, purring. 'That's Aphra,' said Letty, nudging her with the stick. 'She belongs to my daughter but seems to prefer me. Cats are terrible sodomites. No, I don't mean sodomites, I mean parasites. Would you like some tea?

Who were we to tell Roz to stick with teaching - that she was already living her best life? But it was dismal to imagine the Brownswood kids going to school and not being taught by Mrs. Gill anymore. Mrs. Gill, who sent Em home every week with essays covered in glowing comments, which in turn made Em glow. Mrs. Gill, who'd bullied and enlightened me, restored my confidence and made me feel that anything was possible. Teachers like her and Sarah Boleyn were precious, should be feted and put in magazines like Hollywood stars. Maybe then they wouldn't want to do other things.

What are we but a series of evolutions?' she said gaily, spearing another shell. 'Each one a better incarnation. One day you'll be a person who eats snails.

Maybe you couldn't interfere with people's choices, but you could make it easier for them to make the right ones.