‘Christelle, this is my husband George and this is Greg. Greg and George this is Christelle.’ ‘Hi,’ she stammered. ‘You can call me Christie...’ ‘Hi.’ greeted George and Greg in unison. ‘I understand you’ve had a rough time?’ began George. ‘You could say that,’ replied Christelle. ‘Why don’t you join us for lunch. It’ll give Greg and yourself time to get to know each other and maybe you can restart your holiday on a better note.’ ‘Okay,’ agreed Christelle hesitantly. ‘Sounds good to me,’ agreed. My sleep that night was far from what it normally was. I had the most vivid, surreal dreams imaginable. I was being chased by FBI agents who wanted me to return the suitcases full of bedroom furniture. Becky was screaming at me that I was off the team and we were going to be in last place. Lana was wearing a white wedding dress about to marry someone I couldn’t make out and when I screamed, they laughed and someone I couldn’t make out was trying to hand me a baby. My mother telling me that we. More

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