Melissa Barker-Simpson

5 September 2014

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. But then, even if it did, I’d still be tied to a lamppost. Naked.

Squinting against the early morning sun and cursing my former best friend to hell and back, I tried to shake off the fog in my brain.

The clock on the spire above me read 7am, which meant anytime now the patrons of Pudsey would wander into town and find more than they bargained for. I was probably looking at an indecency charge.

My eyes dropped to the ground, where my clothes were folded in a neat pile. My boots were beside them, and my wallet, keys and phone balanced carefully on top. All were out of reach by a few inches.

A flash of red in my peripheral vision had me turning to the right. I groaned when I registered the…