We were together until one Friday night in March, the Friday when he told me he couldn't see me any more. I couldn't even say how or why or what. He said it so normal and reasonable and downbeat that I just sat and stared at him, and before I could shout or cry or call him names, he left the flat with a bag under his arm and said that he would send round for the rest of his stuff. And that was the end of Fred and me: after nine years, he walked out of the door with a bag in his hand.
Depriving Iris of a job as well as a partner, Fred's departure paralyses her. Then, plunging back into a world where she is forced to re-evaluate the physical, the emotional, and what really matters, she rediscovers life. And art. And friendship. And even revenge.
