‘Ceri, what the fuck happened?’ I winced as gently put my violin case down. ‘Some cunt knocked me down the stairs at Vauxhall.’ ‘Oh my god. ...our arm, Ceri?’ ‘Sprained, not broken.’ ‘Sit down, sit down. It’s an emergency. Wine is called for.’ Bronwyn flapped around me like a mother hen, dragging our TV lurk blankets out and arranging me on our shabby sofa. ‘You did a good job on yourself, Ceridwen,’ she muttered. ‘You look like someone used you as a punching bag.’ ‘It gets worse.’ ‘How much. I invited her to sit at the bar, to relax for a few minutes. I reached in the refer for two bottles of lemonade and gave her one. I sat next to her and we started chatting. She said the last several weeks were stressful for her...finals, working, her mother had not been feeling well, but was better now. I said I understood, things had been stressful for me, too...finals, grading, and all the semester-ending closeouts. I said it was good that we could now both relax a little, at least not have. More

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