'Funny', she said. 'We all seem to have them.'
She stands there, waiting in her kitchen doorway, me stood on a chair, dabbing white paint onto the ceiling.
'So do you try and keep in touch?'
'No,' I say. 'It's bad enough trying to get along with people you do like. Never mind those you don't.'
This makes her laugh. 'I've got something for you' she says and the kitchen doorway's empty.
The floor of the kitchen is covered in newspapers.
When I set them down, I put the pages showing half-clad girls facing the floor. Same with the headlines about people beating or succumbing to cancer.
I scan the floor now, hoping I haven't missed anything.
She comes back and pins a button badge to my scarf. It's a black badge with white lettering. I haven't worn a button badge since I was at school.
'I'm not going to see what it says' I tell her. 'I'm going to wear it until I forget it.'
'I'm going to try and guess what it says from peoples' reactions.'
I look up to say something else.
The kitchen doorway's empty again.