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215 pages, Paperback
First published May 12, 1998
What's the matter?' But Rosemary cannot tell Billie she is scared of being alone, not necessarily in the immediate future but in the longer term. Old and alone. Ill and lonely. This morning it seems possible people she's always dismissed as pathetic have a point. Stay married and live longer. Stay together and live.
They'd be printing it on bumperstickers next. Rosemary tells herself to stop it. You get a cat and you cope, Rosemary tells herself firmly. Or a dog, if you must. A dog is always pleased to see you when you get home from work. What she needs is a drink. She knows alcohol is a depressant, but, quite honestly, in the short term at least, it does the trick. Luckily there's still a bottle of champagne in the fridge. She opens it, hands a glass to Billie.
'To your travels,' she says and drinks.
'Cheers, lover,' says Billie. And Rosemary reminds herself that she'd rather be dead than totter handcuffed and in tandem towards the grave. (p.16)