I’ve ironed my dress. Twice. The village committee meeting isn’t until tomorrow, but it feels important to look prepared. I keep telling myself it’s just a meeting.

A few chairs and a plate of plain digestives. But I’ve read the newsletters. It’s not just a meeting. I’ve chosen a pen with blue ink (too serious?), and practiced saying “That’s an interesting perspective.” Also, I caught myself nodding at my own reflection. It was meant to look wise. It looked faintly ill. The cracked teacup has found the windowsill again.

It always turns up when something matters.