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Year of the Oar
Year of the Oar By Clare Seven Part 1 ?Name?? She asked me again as I glanced about the drab office. ?Justine?Justine Laing. It?s written on the form.? The large bespectacled woman looked up from the pink form in front of me, her manner betraying the fact that she was having a bad day, in a bad week, perhaps in a bad life. ?Thank you Miss Laing,? she replied, her voice dripping with venom. ?Now,? she continued. ?You are out of work yes? And what was it you?ve been doing?? She glanced at the...