I hate smug people.”
Ros laughed. “That you do. And so you’re using his phone. He’ll explode, you know.”
“Oh, it’ll be bad. ‘Cause I made all the phone calls on my list.”
There was a pause. “No. You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Fifty-one phone calls on the off-limits phone?” “Yup.”
“Did you fall down the stairs or something? What is wrong with you?!

My mouth fell open in incredulity.
“Ah, Maria. Are you trying to tell me you’ve taken up the sport of fly-catching with your mouth?”
Ros reached over and lifted my chin.
“And an assistant too. So that you don’t scare the little flies away. How wonderful; I didn’t realise it was a team sport. Interesting. Tell me, what do they taste like? I can’t imagine a fly filling any hole in your stomach. How many have you caught?”
“That’s disgusting.” Ros screwed her face up.
“My thoughts exactly.

What's this one, Mum? There's no return address, and there's like, five stamps on it. Who's it from?"
Leaning forward to get a closer look at the stamps, I didn't notice the fleeting look of immense sadness pass over her face.
"Oh it's nothing, darling."
I raised my eyebrow at her. She sighed.
"An overseas friend. You wouldn't know her."
And before I could ask what 'her' name was, Mum had left the room.

Lived through people shooting at the helicopters, running up five, six flights of stairs.

I can't ever hear him coming down the stairs, or the phone ringing off the hook from girls and friends calling him. I can't ever again come home to hear the radio blasting upstairs. It's just so quiet in this house without him.

The angry mob of villagers wield camera phones, the twenty-first century equivalent of pitchforks and flaming torches.