Fifty Shades of Grey

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I am indebted to the following people for their help and support:

To my husband Niall – thank you for tolerating my obsession, being a domestic god and doing the first edit.

To my boss Lisa – thank you for putting up with me over the last year or so while I indulged in this madness.

To CCL – I’ll never tell but thank you.

To the original bunker babes – thank you for your friendship and constant support.

To SR – thank you for all the helpful advice from the start and for going first.

To Sue – thanks for sorting me out.

To Amanda and all at TWCS – thank you for taking a punt.

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair – it just won’t behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi-presentable.

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