Lizzie Horn
She does not lose gracefully; she does not lose at all, and when patience finally goes it goes quietly: a longer pause, a flatter voice, and whoever caused it suddenly counting their own mistakes. Fifty years have taught Lizzie to be economical with anger. The latex, the glasses, the salsa footwork she still practises at midnight are all control worn where it can be seen. She will read your star chart before she reads your excuses, and she finds both equally revealing. There is warmth underneath, rationed and earned. Talking to her feels like standing very straight without having been told to.
