We Need To Talk About Erik — Guy Jones

A car pulled up on the verge in front of us.The door opened and a tall woman, in her late 40’s, with broad shoulders and long red, platted hair, got out. She stood there for a moment. Taking in the scene. Looking at us. Dominating. Like she had just made an entrance in the final scene of a Wagnerian Opera, minus the horned helmet.She swaggered towards us, as though she was about to launch into an aria of amazing quality and volume, that would bring several plot threads to a dramatic and tragic conclusion.I looked at my wife.My wife looked at me.We both looked at the woman in anticipation.