Anticipation of Bad News

It had seemed a wonderful day to be an art student in London. The rain that had drenched them while stumbling home from a club the night before had blown away shortly before the sun had risen. Through clearing cloud, dawn speared pink, orange and yellow fingers that burst through the ragged curtains of her student bedroom, lavishly caressing tumbled sheets and bare skin alike.

Andrea had woken with an urgent need to rid herself of the previous night’s drinks, but the beauty of the scene had almost overruled her body’s insistence. She’d stumbled off to the small bathroom down the hall, praying that the fickle light would remain by the time she’d snagged her camera and returned. Her lover had woken to the unmistakable sound of a mechanical shutter, and a playful discussion about the requirements of model releases had led to them finding a completely different kind of release.

They’d pottered about Bloomsbury for the rest of the day, lunching at a small café and dodging the spring rain. Then the call had come.

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