Isobel Wycherley

We’re all tired and very quiet, asking each other if we’re excited for the holiday in the most unenthusiastic voices ever.

My name is Felicity, Flic for short.

“Might as well spread out,” he jokes, as he breathes in awkwardly through his teeth, which makes us all laugh.

Gracias!” I chirp, in my best Spanish accent which I picked up from one year of A-level Spanish, which I then failed and dropped out of. He just nods back at me with his upside-down smile

perfect! I sit there, too busy eating