‘You won’t live to see New Year’
Jotting down a customer’s order in the cafe where I worked, I groaned inwardly as All I Want For Christmas Is You played for the third time that morning. I was a few hours into my shift and my feet were already aching, but then a tall, well-built man in a leather jacket came in and sat down. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he grinned.
‘You too,’ I laughed. His name was Adrian Permetter and the hairs on my arms prickled, the tinsel in my hair crinkling against my shoulders, as we flirted. Adrian, then 31, gave me his number, and after several dates, I introduced him to my daughter Asthon, then nine, and son Destin, seven. They adored him immediately, especially
