"Got room for another at your table?" Angela Holt asks, stepping into view from behind Rose.
The look on Angela's face isn't her usual calm, cool, collected one. Her eyes are bloodshot as though she's been crying heavily. She sits down with a bottle of whisky and looks over at Rose.
"Fuck this year and the next one. Pass the vodka, please." she says, downing a shot of whisky.
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