After the Encore

“London… really London.”

“Yes, love.” And for a moment Alice looked so hopeful, Sandy remembered how she’d felt, going to London with Byron for the first time. He’d promised she could go to any band, any gig, dance all night. Promised her clothes, but she just wanted to see bands. He’d promised her every band ticket she wanted.


Everything I wrote myself I hid or promptly threw away, whether revenge fantasies or what I later found out is called fan-fiction. I had no notion of becoming a writer, however, until I was nearly eighteen years old. At that point I quite suddenly realised I was one, whether I would or no.


I shed my layers like an old skin – my shawl, the netted muslin at my throat, my underskirt – until all that remains is the shell of my dress, as sea green as the gown of Loro Kidu.