Mistress Nicki
A few quiet days later I got a phone call from a withheld number. At the time I was taking a lunchtime walk along the sea-front. “Hello?” “Hello, it’s Graham.” “Graham? I don’t know anyone called Graham.” “We met last week.” The penny wasn’t dropping. I don’t know what planet I was on. “Sorry.” “Um. We met at the shop. The shop on Surrey Street?” “Ooooh,” I said at last. “That shop.” “Yes.” “That Graham.” “Yes.” I had only given my phone number to middle aged man, so this was clearly not shop...
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