She laughs again, a sound rich and full, tinged with a delicious irony.
"What are, my mother now?"
She takes her glass and settles back onto the bed with a boneless grace, resting it on her thigh. (Blue jeans, painted on to ample hips and strong thighs, tapered down to her ankles, black socks with little white polka dots on them.)
"You know, Guv. You may not believe it, but you trust me. We're -- you're one of the best friends I've ever had."
Maybe it's the alcohol that's making her speak the truth of the matter. Maybe it's that this isn't her Gene, and he doesn't know her, can't see all the little ways in which he's got well and truly under her skin. Maybe it's that he's the one that's leaving this time.
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"What are, my mother now?"
She takes her glass and settles back onto the bed with a boneless grace, resting it on her thigh. (Blue jeans, painted on to ample hips and strong thighs, tapered down to her ankles, black socks with little white polka dots on them.)
"You know, Guv. You may not believe it, but you trust me. We're -- you're one of the best friends I've ever had."
Maybe it's the alcohol that's making her speak the truth of the matter. Maybe it's that this isn't her Gene, and he doesn't know her, can't see all the little ways in which he's got well and truly under her skin. Maybe it's that he's the one that's leaving this time.