stretch and he tutted.
‘Take your time, why don’t you?’
Raychel laughed and shuffled to a sitting position so Ben could put the tray on her lap. Every Sunday morning he made them breakfast in bed. He had done since they had moved in together when they were seventeen, although in those days he hadn’t been confident enough to tackle the Full English and it had just been toast and coffee with a daft flower in an eggcup at the side.
He sat down beside her with his own tray and began to tuck in.
‘I’ll never eat all this!’ she said. ‘You always give me far too much.’
‘Get it down you. You’ve no fat on your bones. No pudding unless you finish it!’ He wagged his finger at her and she speared a sausage and dipped the end in ketchup. She never did finish the huge breakfast he served up; he always had to help her out.
‘Just think, there will only be another three Sundays in this house, then we’ll be in our own place.’
‘Aye, well enjoy it then because once I start paying a mortgage we’ll only be able to afford to split a Pop Tart for breakfast,’ replied Ben, through a mouthful of bacon.
‘I won’t mind,’ said Raychel, sighing as she thought of the new flat they would be moving into soon.
‘As if!’ said Ben. ‘I like making your breakfast.’
‘You spoil me,’ smiled Raychel. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on his stubbly face.
‘Give me that sausage if you’re not going to eat it,’ said Ben.
‘Get lost,’ said Raychel, playfully stuffing the whole sausage into her mouth so Ben couldn’t have it.
‘I didn’t know you could do that!’ gasped Ben with a cheeky grin. ‘Raychel Love, I think you just might have to stay in bed for a bit longer and show me that trick again.’
Ben abandoned his breakfast immediately and jumped on a shrieking Raychel. Some things were more important than a Sunday morning fry-up.
Chapter 10
‘Morning, girls!’ said a cheerful Christie to her troupe of four. It was five to nine on Monday morning and they still looked furtive, as if they were sneaking in late. They made her laugh. This job was just what she needed. She was so grateful she had mentioned the fact to James McAskill that she was looking for a full-time job. The ladies intrigued her though, each in their own unique way; they all seemed locked in their own little worlds. Grace, for instance. How many women in their fifties refused healthy offers of early retirement – not once, but twice? What was she running from? And young Dawn was positively schizophrenic. Sometimes she had that glow of a girl in love, only for it to be replaced by the world’s biggest worries showing on her face – what was all that about? Little Ray was a sweetheart, but so jumpy. Nails constantly in her mouth, and when there were no more nails, her fingers bled from the skin being ripped around them. Anna intrigued her most of all. Had she ever bloomed? Christie wondered. She had the air of one who never had. That would have been so unfair if she had not. Every woman should have her moment of flowering. Everyone should have days to look back on when they could say, ‘I was at my most beautiful then.’
‘Morning, everyone,’ said Malcolm, swaggering through the office. The ladies returned the greeting politely enough.
‘Morning, Christie,’ said Malcolm, leaning over her desk. Christie looked up to find a man who was decidedly more orange in the face than she remembered from Friday. Mahogany even. She had the sudden desire to spray some Mr Sheen on him. Poor man, did he realize how silly he looked?
‘I thought we might have lunch together. Let me take you through some of the ideas for the department that I never got to implement.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Christie. She didn’t really like the corporate lunch thing, but the man was making an effort to be friendly and it would have been very rude of her to rebuff him. ‘Shall we say twelve in the canteen?’
‘Or we could go to the
‘Take your time, why don’t you?’
Raychel laughed and shuffled to a sitting position so Ben could put the tray on her lap. Every Sunday morning he made them breakfast in bed. He had done since they had moved in together when they were seventeen, although in those days he hadn’t been confident enough to tackle the Full English and it had just been toast and coffee with a daft flower in an eggcup at the side.
He sat down beside her with his own tray and began to tuck in.
‘I’ll never eat all this!’ she said. ‘You always give me far too much.’
‘Get it down you. You’ve no fat on your bones. No pudding unless you finish it!’ He wagged his finger at her and she speared a sausage and dipped the end in ketchup. She never did finish the huge breakfast he served up; he always had to help her out.
‘Just think, there will only be another three Sundays in this house, then we’ll be in our own place.’
‘Aye, well enjoy it then because once I start paying a mortgage we’ll only be able to afford to split a Pop Tart for breakfast,’ replied Ben, through a mouthful of bacon.
‘I won’t mind,’ said Raychel, sighing as she thought of the new flat they would be moving into soon.
‘As if!’ said Ben. ‘I like making your breakfast.’
‘You spoil me,’ smiled Raychel. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on his stubbly face.
‘Give me that sausage if you’re not going to eat it,’ said Ben.
‘Get lost,’ said Raychel, playfully stuffing the whole sausage into her mouth so Ben couldn’t have it.
‘I didn’t know you could do that!’ gasped Ben with a cheeky grin. ‘Raychel Love, I think you just might have to stay in bed for a bit longer and show me that trick again.’
Ben abandoned his breakfast immediately and jumped on a shrieking Raychel. Some things were more important than a Sunday morning fry-up.
Chapter 10
‘Morning, girls!’ said a cheerful Christie to her troupe of four. It was five to nine on Monday morning and they still looked furtive, as if they were sneaking in late. They made her laugh. This job was just what she needed. She was so grateful she had mentioned the fact to James McAskill that she was looking for a full-time job. The ladies intrigued her though, each in their own unique way; they all seemed locked in their own little worlds. Grace, for instance. How many women in their fifties refused healthy offers of early retirement – not once, but twice? What was she running from? And young Dawn was positively schizophrenic. Sometimes she had that glow of a girl in love, only for it to be replaced by the world’s biggest worries showing on her face – what was all that about? Little Ray was a sweetheart, but so jumpy. Nails constantly in her mouth, and when there were no more nails, her fingers bled from the skin being ripped around them. Anna intrigued her most of all. Had she ever bloomed? Christie wondered. She had the air of one who never had. That would have been so unfair if she had not. Every woman should have her moment of flowering. Everyone should have days to look back on when they could say, ‘I was at my most beautiful then.’
‘Morning, everyone,’ said Malcolm, swaggering through the office. The ladies returned the greeting politely enough.
‘Morning, Christie,’ said Malcolm, leaning over her desk. Christie looked up to find a man who was decidedly more orange in the face than she remembered from Friday. Mahogany even. She had the sudden desire to spray some Mr Sheen on him. Poor man, did he realize how silly he looked?
‘I thought we might have lunch together. Let me take you through some of the ideas for the department that I never got to implement.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Christie. She didn’t really like the corporate lunch thing, but the man was making an effort to be friendly and it would have been very rude of her to rebuff him. ‘Shall we say twelve in the canteen?’
‘Or we could go to the
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