We stumble through the meal, with me the centre of attention She’s the first thing I see in the living room, sitting on the mantelpiece, surrounded by a gilt frame. It’s her wedding day. Their wedding day. The usual pose: happy, smiling faces, bodies entwined. Even from the doorway, I can see she’s ravishing. Blonde, with a complexion that glows; slim, but strong.
This was before, of course. At her death, Glenn told me, she weighed nothing. She’d lost her hair and would wear a turban, a different one in a different colour for every day, till she got too ill to care. But, of course, there are no photographs on display of her looking thin and frail and older than her years. Only this. Perfect.
“I’m so pleased to…
