“Frankly, you could at least make him cough up.” Jo’s eyes search her sister, she insists with her gaze.

“Drop it. I don’t want anything from him.”

“Well, at least you seem to know who he is, which is comforting.”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m not a tart.”

Articulated lorries whizz across the bridge over the Durance; the girls follow the convoy with their eyes.

“Have you been to see Grandpa in hospital?”

“No, but I’ll go soon.”

“Shall we have a McDonald’s?”

“Yeah, and then let’s go back and doll up for your posh party.”

Their gazes wander beyond the main highway. Seen from the cars, they’re as tiny as mice.

Preparations

Preparations