It was a late night in the thick of the hottest summer England had had in years. As I sat sweltering on the porch in the purest moonlight, I noticed a girl walking down the street, her long curly hair bouncing and her white dress snug against her small body. It was Jade Simmons, my best girlfriend from secondary school. She floated down by street like a saint in one of my Nan's prayer candles. I sat there, shocked, my mouth dry, my tongue like a dead whale in my mouth.
Jade Simmons had gone missing three years ago. We’d all thought her dead.
She looked up at me, as if by chance.
“Hello, Nancy,” she said, smiling eerily. Her teeth were yellowed and missing, her eyes wild. “Mind if I come in?”