‘I’m good for it.’
That’s how she started the meeting. After we had shaken hands and I had wiped my palms on my trousers discreetly, she launched straight in. She had a low and drawly voice and the words rolled right out of her mouth and onto the table. I could almost see them: small, black and bold with a large full stop spinning like a coin before it fell flat.
I blinked a few times, watching the full stop I had imagined, wondering what she was talking about. What was she good for? What wasn’t she good for? What did it have to do with me?