The funeral was beginning and they
lowered their voices. He took her hand and kissed it, but suddenly
his nose wrinkled and his grip tightened. He pressed her hand to his
face like a handkerchief and inhaled sharply. ‘What’s that smell
on your fingers?’ ‘Nothing,’ she tries to draw her hand away
but he holds it tight. ‘It’s just jojoba oil.’ He throws her
hand back to her: ‘You think I don’t know?’ He turns away.
‘It’s pussy.’