““Do you do it on purpose?” “Do what?” he asked, confused. “Leave me with images that no amount of psychotherapy could remove? Burnt peas and rancid hummus are now seared into my brain along with you and Granny and the fact that you clearly sang in a glee club.” “Those were difficult times, Essie. You think you have problems? Try running naked through coals while being pelted with boar’s teeth.” Nothing. I had nothing. “You””
