Rape victim Sarah Nuffield examined the tiles on her rack. The triple word score seemed out of reach for now, but maybe if she...
‘Come on, come on,’ barked Pete, who had lost an eye in the same childhood accident which had killed his twin brother. ‘We haven’t got all day.’
‘Oh Pete,’ laughed Andrea, whose crippling bouts of depression had led her more than once to the brink of suicide. ‘Leave Sarah alone. It’s only a game.’
‘Yeah, Pete,’ said Simon. ‘You took long enough on your turn.’ He flashed Pete the sympathetic smile which had been his trademark since he had escaped from the religious cult which had indoctrinated him, taken all his money and forced him never to see his family again.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Pete, bravely struggling with his lack of adequate depth perception, ‘but I’ve got a real doozy lined up here.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Sarah. ‘The only word I can make is “anguish,” and I can’t find a place to put it.’
‘How about there?’ said Andrea, with a chuckle. ‘Using the “A” from “trauma?”’