In the beginning, Envis tasted a strange metallic taste in her mouth and as the taste sharpened to acidic lime, the silver jewellery she loved to wear,turned a smelly pewter green.

Then one evening, while inspecting her tongue in the mirror, she noticed that her skin had taken on a pale, cucumber sheen that both startled and frightened her.

Behind her, her friend Jasmine having called by for a coffee, waited for Envis to finish her inspection and, looking at her friend through the mirror, Envis realised, not for the first time, that beneath Jasmine's mask of cool beauty lay a demon of treachery.

As days turned to months, the taste in Envis's mouth became fetid, like rotting leaves, and despite her many warnings of Jasmine's stealthy duplicity, mutual friends withdrew from Envis as if she was the pariah.

Couldn't they see through that angelic facade? Couldn't they understand that Jasmine took hold of their hearts? Claimed them as her own? And those tormented questions haunted her by both day and night until that metallic taste thickened, almost stifling her.

But on this warm, sunny early morning, Envis feels better as she waits in the park for Jasmine's daily appearance. Then, at the corner of her eye, she catches a flash of white shorts and T-shirt. Hears her friend's easy paced strides drawing closer.

Finally, Jasmine reaches the bench enquiring, a little breathlessly, if Envis is all right. Envis nods and that metallic taste seems to hinge her jaw shut, her tongue rigid.

Despite the sound of blood pounding in her ears, she hears Jasmine ask in her familiar, condescending tone if Envis too has taken up jogging? Envis, forcing her mouth open, explains that she's out for a stroll, though her coherent reply churns like a miasma of bitter fury inside her head.

Then, noticing Jasmine glance at her watch, Envis gives her friend a pleading smile. Pats the bench in a silent invitation. Sighing, Jasmine sits down on the edge of the seat, commenting on an important business meeting she must attend at 11.30am.

Taking out two small brown bread rolls from a plastic bag, Envis offers her one. Jasmine shakes her head but, changing her mind, as if not wanting to cause any offence, she accepts the proffered roll with obvious reluctance.

Biting into the roll, Jasmine winces and Envis, putting on a needy expression openly wonders if maybe she could sell her newly created jam in the local organic shop.

Jasmine asks what sort of jam it is before gulping down the rest in an attempt, Envis suspects,to get rid of the foul flavour as quickly as possible.

Getting up from the bench, Envis throws her own uneaten roll into the waste bin, saying, 'Poisoned Ivy Conserve,'
and walking away,ignoring her friend's terrifed cries, she leaves the park planning the outfit she'll wear to Jasmine's funeral.