Excerpts

From: The Diffraction of Light on the Fibres

This is the first place where they live together, two rooms high up in the house, odd shaped, with sloping ceilings. See – they’ve painted the walls yellow to reflect the sunshine which comes in the dormer window. That’s where they sleep, the mattress on the floor, pushed up against the wall. Not much room for anything else, only that cheap chest of drawers in the corner. He has to climb over her to get in and out of bed and she grabs his bare legs and pulls him down on top of her. They make love, but you shouldn’t be looking. 

From: Two Figures in a Landscape

As you can see, Annie has made what they used to call at home ‘a fine, big woman’.  She is tall, taking after her father, and carries a deal of flesh on her bones.

 ‘Big boned, so you are,’ her Auntie Eileen used to tell her, which was no consolation. The fashion then was for slender and fey, big eyes in an elfin face with a silken cap of, preferably blonde, hair. It’s even worse now, of course. No bosoms at all allowed, a woman’s body being composed only of lines and hollows on which to drape clothes. So Annie has tended to think of herself as an outsider. 

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