Balancing ActBook - 2014
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I’m not very good at forgiving people. I mean, it wouldn’t matter to me how beautiful someone was, if their behaviour was shite. And his has been shite personified. Being anywhere near him made me feel kind of . . . _contaminated_.
She had to be coaxed into having friends for tea or birthday parties, or going on school trips, as if the very notion of disliking communal activities was just too peculiar to be permitted. It wasn’t, she tried to explain throughout her growing-up years, that she didn’t _like_ other people; it was just that she really needed lots of time on her own.
She was _not_ wearing that dress. She was wearing her favourite princess dress from her dressing-up box, the one made of scratchy panels of iridescent gauze, with artificial jewels glued gaudily to the bodice. She did not shout, she screamed. Then she cast herself down on her bedroom floor, like someone helpfully demonstrating a textbook tantrum, and, while still yelling, kicked her feet so hard against her chest of drawers that her shoes fell off.
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