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“Freya. Stand up and turn around.”

She bent. The wood was warm from the sun, the grain rough against her palms. She watched a mallard dive and surface, shake water from its emerald head. Behind her, the man unzipped his trousers. She counted the seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. Forty-five. A grunt. A rustle of fabric. freeuse freya parker

“Bend over the bench,” he said. “Face the pond. I’ll only be a minute.” “Freya

Freya finished her juice. The pulp stuck to her teeth. She didn’t brush it away. ” her mother said

“Thank you,” her mother said, already returning to her tablet. “You can finish your breakfast.”