Guest

‘For a split-second his pupils flare, and his nostrils, and he raises his chin as if roused by the scent of something, but then his gaze slips, eyes unfocussed as though the alcohol of the evening has just hit. The hall light blinks on and off and in it the colour of his eyes shifts and flickers – enraged blue, shy brown. I don't know if he will answer me. I don't know if I can trust him.’

— Françoise Harvey, Guest