“Anastasia?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring him. Then my befuddled brain registers… how does he know it’s me?
“Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him.
“Anastasia, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern.
“I’m not the strange one, you are,” I accuse. There - that told him, my courage fuelled by alcohol.
“Anastasia, have you been drinking?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m – curious. Where are you?”
“In a bar.”
“Which bar?” He sounds exasperated.