Don't Get Me Wrong by Marianne Kavanagh

leaf—had drifted on into shots of single malt by the fire. Harry dimly remembered getting to bed around four a.m.
    The best thing about trips like this, he thought, is telling Kimabout them afterwards. She’s so appalled by the decadence, extravagance, and overindulgence that she goes pale with fury and splutters. It’s always entertaining to see her lost for words.
    Giles prodded Harry in the ribs. “I think you might be in there.”
    In where? Harry followed Giles’s gaze. Emily, the only female analyst on the trip, was being helped by a very attentive coach to position the shotgun into the hollow of her shoulder. She gave a little toss of her red hair, as if she knew she was being watched.
    â€œShe keeps giving you the eye,” said Giles in his Etonian drawl.
    â€œI think you’re imagining it.”
    â€œWish I were. Wouldn’t mind getting in there myself.”
    Harry smiled. “I’m spoken for.”
    â€œOh, yes, I forgot. The terrifying Titania. The Iron Lady. No one ever calls her Titty, I notice.”
    â€œI think they might regret it if they did.”
    Giles roared with laughter. “I tell you, Harry, if you ever get tired of her, you let me know. I’ll be over like a shot.”
    â€œPull!” shouted Emily in a loud, clear voice. The target arched out of the skeet into the murky gray sky, and she fired.
    â€œScore!” shouted Giles, an explosion of excitement.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    â€œKim? Can you hear me? I’m by the pool. At Jean-Marc’s house. Such a beautiful old villa. Up in the hills. Lemons, figs, oleander. But I don’t know how good the reception is.”
    â€œI can hear you perfectly.”
    â€œI’ve booked my flights. Three weeks’ time. Nice to Paris, Paris to London. I get in at two in the afternoon, September sixth. But of course, I don’t expect you to meet me at the airport. I can easily carry my own bags.”
    â€œNo, I can be there.”
    â€œSuch a shame you don’t drive. But I don’t think the Heathrow Express will be that exhausting, will it?”
    â€œI could book a cab. Although it’s quite—”
    â€œOnly if you’re sure. It’s probably not that much more expensive if there’s two of us. Or three, if Eva comes.”
    â€œShe might be teaching.”
    â€œTeaching?”
    â€œGuitar.”
    â€œHow extraordinary.”
    â€œShe’s been taking on more pupils because it’s going to be harder to get around from now on. She can’t really travel round Europe as she used to.”
    â€œAnd that’s exactly why I’m coming. To give Eva some moral support. Of course, she’s not going to be the only single parent in the world. But this can’t be easy for her. So I don’t want to put either of you to any trouble.”
    â€œIt’s fine. Really. You can have my room. I would offer you the box room, but it’s full of junk. A lot of it’s yours—”
    â€œI was thinking of booking into a hotel. But then of course I wouldn’t be able to spend so much time with my daughters.”
    â€œReally, Mum, it’s no problem. I can share with Eva for a few days.”
    â€œIn the big room? My old room?”
    â€œThe one at the front.”
    â€œSuch a lovely bright room. So important to make the most of whatever sunshine there is in England. Because you know I do suffer from SAD. Seasonal affective disorder. That’s why I went to the South of France, really. For the sunshine.”
    â€œAre you saying you want Eva to move out of her room?”
    â€œOh, good heavens, no! She’s pregnant. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience her in any way. How’s she feeling at the moment?”
    â€œShe gets heartburn.”
    â€œOh, I remember that. With both of you. Although of course it’s the birth itself that causes the long-term problems. Especially if the