you—’
‘Don’t mention it. I like to start the week with a bit of drama. So that’s the famous Jeff?’
Grace nodded.
Michelle said, ‘Handsome is as handsome doesn’t?’
Grace said, ‘It wasn’t a very good weekend.’
‘He works for that garden centre, doesn’t he? Out Trentham way?’
‘Yes,’ Grace said shortly.
‘What does he do there?’
Grace didn’t look at her. She said, ‘It’s a bit vague …’
‘Depressing, you mean,’ Michelle said. ‘It must be one of the most depressing garden centres in England. And plants are supposed to cheer you up, aren’t they? Living things, and all that.’
Grace looked away in silence.
‘OK,’ Michelle said, ‘I get the message. I can take a hint. I just like to know what’s going on, same as you do, if only you’d admit it.’
She took off her bobble hat and hung it on the bentwood coat rack in the corner. She said, ‘And a little bird told me that your mum’s buying a house in Barlaston.’
Grace stared. ‘What?’
Michelle unzipped her parka.
‘You can’t keep anything to yourself round here. You know that. Especially if it concerns your mum. So it’s true, isn’t it? I can tell from your face, just as I can tell that if your Jeff wasn’t so hot you’d have given him the Monday-morning push.’ She paused by the central unit and looked down at the golden box. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Chocolates! And I’ll have to eat them all, won’t I? Because you simply couldn’t face them, could you?’
There was nobody at home, in Radipole Road, except the parrot. Jasper had left one of his comical doodle notes onthe kitchen table, saying that the cleaner couldn’t come because she had a child off school, and that he would be back about six, possibly with Brady and Frank, and if so, he’d get a takeaway for all of them.
Apart from the note, the kitchen table was empty, save for a Susie Sullivan jug of small, forced irises. The irises had no doubt come from Holland. The jug was from the Rise and Shine range, twenty years old and still selling.
Susie crossed over to the birdcage. Polynesia, busy investigating something under one wing, affected to take no notice. She was at the far end of her perch and, apart from the small clucking sounds integral to her search, offered no greeting.
‘Polynesia,’ Susie said, ‘just because I’m not Jasper—’
At the sound of his name, Polynesia extracted her head and eyed Susie sideways.
‘I’m sorry it’s only me,’ Susie said. ‘But it’s better than being alone, isn’t it?’
Polynesia clucked briefly. Then she sidled along her perch so that she was nearer Susie, but not near enough to be touched.
Susie said, ‘You’ve had him to yourself all weekend, after all.’
Polynesia considered this. Then she edged back the way she had come and put her head back under her wing.
‘It’s a bit much,’ Susie said, ‘to have a parrot that won’t even
speak
to me. I think I’ll get one of my own for the Parlour House, just to put your beak out of joint.’
‘You bugger off,’ Polynesia said, indistinctly but unmistakeably from among her feathers.
Susie laughed. ‘You’re a baggage, Polynesia Moran. You really are. Isn’t it lucky for you and me that Jasper seems to like baggages?’
Polynesia’s head shot up again. ‘Polynesia Moran,’ she said. ‘Jasper Moran. South-west six.’
Susie went across the room, by force of habit, to the kettle. Beside it, Jasper had left a pile of mail, the more interesting envelopes slit open with their contents re-inserted sideways, to indicate that he had read them. The girls – well, not Grace so much, but Cara and Ashley – had been saying for years that Susie should have an assistant, someone dedicated to running her life, from organizing her correspondence and the diary to collecting her dry-cleaning. But she had always refused. She had office staff both in London and Stoke, she said, and she had Jasper, who had been in at the very
‘Don’t mention it. I like to start the week with a bit of drama. So that’s the famous Jeff?’
Grace nodded.
Michelle said, ‘Handsome is as handsome doesn’t?’
Grace said, ‘It wasn’t a very good weekend.’
‘He works for that garden centre, doesn’t he? Out Trentham way?’
‘Yes,’ Grace said shortly.
‘What does he do there?’
Grace didn’t look at her. She said, ‘It’s a bit vague …’
‘Depressing, you mean,’ Michelle said. ‘It must be one of the most depressing garden centres in England. And plants are supposed to cheer you up, aren’t they? Living things, and all that.’
Grace looked away in silence.
‘OK,’ Michelle said, ‘I get the message. I can take a hint. I just like to know what’s going on, same as you do, if only you’d admit it.’
She took off her bobble hat and hung it on the bentwood coat rack in the corner. She said, ‘And a little bird told me that your mum’s buying a house in Barlaston.’
Grace stared. ‘What?’
Michelle unzipped her parka.
‘You can’t keep anything to yourself round here. You know that. Especially if it concerns your mum. So it’s true, isn’t it? I can tell from your face, just as I can tell that if your Jeff wasn’t so hot you’d have given him the Monday-morning push.’ She paused by the central unit and looked down at the golden box. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Chocolates! And I’ll have to eat them all, won’t I? Because you simply couldn’t face them, could you?’
There was nobody at home, in Radipole Road, except the parrot. Jasper had left one of his comical doodle notes onthe kitchen table, saying that the cleaner couldn’t come because she had a child off school, and that he would be back about six, possibly with Brady and Frank, and if so, he’d get a takeaway for all of them.
Apart from the note, the kitchen table was empty, save for a Susie Sullivan jug of small, forced irises. The irises had no doubt come from Holland. The jug was from the Rise and Shine range, twenty years old and still selling.
Susie crossed over to the birdcage. Polynesia, busy investigating something under one wing, affected to take no notice. She was at the far end of her perch and, apart from the small clucking sounds integral to her search, offered no greeting.
‘Polynesia,’ Susie said, ‘just because I’m not Jasper—’
At the sound of his name, Polynesia extracted her head and eyed Susie sideways.
‘I’m sorry it’s only me,’ Susie said. ‘But it’s better than being alone, isn’t it?’
Polynesia clucked briefly. Then she sidled along her perch so that she was nearer Susie, but not near enough to be touched.
Susie said, ‘You’ve had him to yourself all weekend, after all.’
Polynesia considered this. Then she edged back the way she had come and put her head back under her wing.
‘It’s a bit much,’ Susie said, ‘to have a parrot that won’t even
speak
to me. I think I’ll get one of my own for the Parlour House, just to put your beak out of joint.’
‘You bugger off,’ Polynesia said, indistinctly but unmistakeably from among her feathers.
Susie laughed. ‘You’re a baggage, Polynesia Moran. You really are. Isn’t it lucky for you and me that Jasper seems to like baggages?’
Polynesia’s head shot up again. ‘Polynesia Moran,’ she said. ‘Jasper Moran. South-west six.’
Susie went across the room, by force of habit, to the kettle. Beside it, Jasper had left a pile of mail, the more interesting envelopes slit open with their contents re-inserted sideways, to indicate that he had read them. The girls – well, not Grace so much, but Cara and Ashley – had been saying for years that Susie should have an assistant, someone dedicated to running her life, from organizing her correspondence and the diary to collecting her dry-cleaning. But she had always refused. She had office staff both in London and Stoke, she said, and she had Jasper, who had been in at the very
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