She was the sort of girl who showed up to a wedding in a sports car and a figure skimming black dress, and she stalked in on impossible high heels, barely managing to avoid teetering. Her green eyes glinted under chunky layers of blonde fringe and above the foamy head of another pint of local bitter. She laughed raucously at dirty jokes, and sprinkled innuendo around like the trampled confetti. The wife of the man who was buying the girl drinks watched warily, wearily, without seeming to watch - years of practice at that. She trusted that her husband would know when to withdraw, to pull away when the flirting changed from exploratory to expectant, after all, he'd had years of practice too.
No-one wondered why the girl was wearing black.
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