Zofija took a plum from the fruit bowl on the bar and tested her thumbnail against it. How much pressure before the skin gave?
—Nope. Have to present myself back at the police station again next week.
—What a nightmare having to go and plead with that Pole-hating policeman, Brenda said.
The plum skin gave way and Zofija’s fingernails filled with orange-yellow
—Brenda, she said, squeezing until she reached hard stone, you have no idea.
Brenda took the plum away and washed Zofija’s hand with a warm cloth.