Anna Wilde dragged a brush through her hair. It seemed to have a life of its own ever since she'd freed it from the severe spiky chop she'd sported since her days at Hendon. She was in two minds to tether it with an elastic scrunchie – it was at the just-above-the-collar stage where it looked messy whichever way she wore it. She left it loose and glanced at her watch: seven-twelve.
She shrugged on her jacket, stuffed her wallet and phone in the pockets of her jeans and grabbed the handle of her suitcase.
There was no reply from her housemate and erstwhile lover. Anna wasn't surprised. Jo had been passive-aggressive toward her ever since she got her new posting.
She opened the front door, took a last look at the house and left. She's be lucky to make the seven-forty to Laverstone.