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Samantha Campbell

“My house is so bloody big and so bloody quiet and so bloody empty it’s driving me bloody crazy and I can’t talk to anyone else about what happened and I hate drinking alone . . .’ She stopped, took a deep breath, then, ‘Do you want your old room back?’

 I hid the smile that threatened to split my face. ‘Well, I’d need to give notice. And I couldn’t afford to pay much . . .’

‘Don’t you play hard to get with me, Douglas Brodie! Unless you’ve got a rich benefactor who’s putting you up at the Ritz, this is a great offer. Hand over your ration card and two pounds a week and it’s a deal. I’ll feed us. We split the whisky. Not that we’re going to be drinking much.” She stared contemptuously at my glass of lemonade.