“Of course,” I said, although I didn’t entirely. Then she sniffed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and said more clearly, “Do you understand?”
It was one of the things we had in common. She had never cried in front of me in fact, she had told me she rarely cried. “I’m so fucking scared,” she said, and burst into tears. Mum sometimes had the same look, toward the end. Her eyes were as I’d never seen them: both empty and terrified. Then she righted it and looked straight at the camera. For the first few minutes of the conversation, she leaned her head back against the wall behind her bed, gaze turned to the ceiling. Tess’s voice sounded normal, but I could see that she had been crying and her narrow face was pale. It was a Friday night, about nine weeks into the project. She lives in north London and is the daughter of novelist Deborah Moggach. Lottie Moggach is a journalist who has written for The Times, Financial Times, Time Out, Elle, GQ and The London Paper.
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