I knew as my hand touched her, she was ill; the skin was too scratchy for a woman who had others cook and clean.
'Please take a seat, ' I said, weighing up her fee.
What they paid, told me, the truth they wanted. I reckoned she wanted expensive lies.
that?' 
I looked down at the dead body, her green dress mingled with the red of blood. Looking back I was too silent, the body as stiff as hers, both our eyes dry. I longed to scream, as once we did between silken sheets, or in the poppy field at dawn.
Grace pulled the curtains and waved him to the bed. She was soon naked not caring what sagged where. The last time everything had pointed up on its own, Kennedy had got shot. What counted was that he was young and definitely nothing was sagging. Hmm, Nana wanted…Nana got.
Two teenage friends in the 1940’s 
screams of Help me had stopped. 
