The agony of LOSING FRIENDS
I’m 45, and two of my three best friends from school are dead. It sounds like a line from one of my novels; a mystery to draw the reader in and keep them turning the pages. But it’s not fiction, and no matter how much I’d like to delete that sentence and start things again, I can’t.
When we left school in summer 1991, Charlotte, Heidi, Lucy and I, all aged 18, hugged each other tearfully and promised to stay in touch. We’d spent our formative years almost constantly in each other’s company, moaning about teachers, long walks chatting about boys – all the things that teenage girls need to work through with their
