Lace Stories

Her house was tidy, calm, and warm. She handed me a towel and offered tea, but her eyes were already doing the talking. I took a seat on her sofa, and with just the right touch of audacity, I said, “So... should we start with the white pair?” She gave a knowing smile and undid the top button of her blouse as she stepped in front of me. No hesitation, just quiet confidence. She peeled her skirt down and stood before me in...

I see her almost every weekday at drop-off and pick-up. Petite, elegant, always in tidy workwear - heels clicking, dark hair swept into a loose bun, a soft Maltese accent smoothing out her already polite English. She always gave off the impression of the classic school mum: organised, discreet, content with her lot. And I never thought much beyond that - well, except for the one time I saw her crouch down to tie her kid’s...