in her arms.
âDonât let her have any more sherry, Emily,â Mumwhispers as she straps the booster cushion to Poppyâs chair.
âI heard that. Thereâs nothing wrong with my hearing. And Iâve had one glass, thatâs all, and it was no more than a thimbleful.â
The sherry continues to flow â for Gran, anyway â and so does the conversation as we settle down to eat. I pick at a carrot. Sitting beside Lewis is somewhat distracting, and I seem to have lost my appetite. I find myself casting glances his way, wondering if Emily could possibly be right, that he does fancy me just a little.
âYou and Zara must have quite a lot in common, Lewis, seeing youâre both involved in making deliveries,â Emily begins.
âItâs a bit different dealing with people rather than sheep,âI point out.
âYes, none of my sheep think theyâre too posh to push,â Lewis says.
âI canât imagine you have many worrying about their bikini lines when they have to have C-sections either,â I say, smiling.
âPlease donât start, Zara,â my mother interrupts. âI know itâs perfectly normal to you, but I donât want to hear any gory talk of blood and afterbirth while weâre eating.â
âI did have someone make a smoothie out of their placenta recently,â I say, winding her up.
âDonât upset your mother,â Dad says.
âIâve heard that one before, sis. Havenât you got any new stories?â
âOne of my ladies who has piercings in various places on her body told me she was scared of needles, and when I took a blood, she fainted.â
âThatâs pretty tame,â Emily says.
âAnyone for ketchup?â Murray asks.
âMe, Daddy,â Poppy says, putting her hand up.
âYou donât have to put your hand up, darling,â Mum says.âYou arenât at nursery now.â
âWhatâs the magic word?âMurray asks.
âWhich? Oh, I know.â Poppyâs hand is in the air again as she goes on, âPlease.â
Murray fetches the ketchup for Poppy, who promptly squeezes out most of the bottle onto her plate; we continue to eat until Gran excuses herself to go and powder her nose.
âShe means sheâs going for a wee,â Poppy announces.
âIâm sorry. You canât do anything discreetly with a four year old in the house,â Emily says.
âPoppy tells it like it is.â Lewis smiles at me and my heart lurches.
âSo how is Gran really, Zara?â Mum asks once sheâs left the room. âI can never get any sense out of her.â
âSheâs all right,â I say.
âWell, I worry about her. I donât like her working like this at her age. She canât go on for ever.â
âIt feels like sheâs going to,â Dad grimaces, the lines at the side of his mouth deepening and his whiskery brows twitching.
âYour father has a bad back from sitting in a car day in, day out for all those years, and he could really do without the runs to the cash and carry,â Mum says.
âThatâs true,â Dad agrees, and the realisation that, although heâs nowhere nearly as old as Gran, he is sixty-eight, comes with a jolt to me. I suppose he should be enjoying retirement, playing golf and spending time with his grandchildren, not running around after my grandmother.
âIf she sold the shop,â Mum continues, âsheâd have more than enough money to live by the sea, with some left over.â
âItâs a dying business,â Dad adds. âThe Village News is losing money and that canât continue for much longer.â
âBecause you can see Sarahâs inheritance disappearing,â Gran interrupts as she walks back into the kitchen. âJimâs always wanted to get his hands on my money.â
âYou know that isnât true.â My father
âDonât let her have any more sherry, Emily,â Mumwhispers as she straps the booster cushion to Poppyâs chair.
âI heard that. Thereâs nothing wrong with my hearing. And Iâve had one glass, thatâs all, and it was no more than a thimbleful.â
The sherry continues to flow â for Gran, anyway â and so does the conversation as we settle down to eat. I pick at a carrot. Sitting beside Lewis is somewhat distracting, and I seem to have lost my appetite. I find myself casting glances his way, wondering if Emily could possibly be right, that he does fancy me just a little.
âYou and Zara must have quite a lot in common, Lewis, seeing youâre both involved in making deliveries,â Emily begins.
âItâs a bit different dealing with people rather than sheep,âI point out.
âYes, none of my sheep think theyâre too posh to push,â Lewis says.
âI canât imagine you have many worrying about their bikini lines when they have to have C-sections either,â I say, smiling.
âPlease donât start, Zara,â my mother interrupts. âI know itâs perfectly normal to you, but I donât want to hear any gory talk of blood and afterbirth while weâre eating.â
âI did have someone make a smoothie out of their placenta recently,â I say, winding her up.
âDonât upset your mother,â Dad says.
âIâve heard that one before, sis. Havenât you got any new stories?â
âOne of my ladies who has piercings in various places on her body told me she was scared of needles, and when I took a blood, she fainted.â
âThatâs pretty tame,â Emily says.
âAnyone for ketchup?â Murray asks.
âMe, Daddy,â Poppy says, putting her hand up.
âYou donât have to put your hand up, darling,â Mum says.âYou arenât at nursery now.â
âWhatâs the magic word?âMurray asks.
âWhich? Oh, I know.â Poppyâs hand is in the air again as she goes on, âPlease.â
Murray fetches the ketchup for Poppy, who promptly squeezes out most of the bottle onto her plate; we continue to eat until Gran excuses herself to go and powder her nose.
âShe means sheâs going for a wee,â Poppy announces.
âIâm sorry. You canât do anything discreetly with a four year old in the house,â Emily says.
âPoppy tells it like it is.â Lewis smiles at me and my heart lurches.
âSo how is Gran really, Zara?â Mum asks once sheâs left the room. âI can never get any sense out of her.â
âSheâs all right,â I say.
âWell, I worry about her. I donât like her working like this at her age. She canât go on for ever.â
âIt feels like sheâs going to,â Dad grimaces, the lines at the side of his mouth deepening and his whiskery brows twitching.
âYour father has a bad back from sitting in a car day in, day out for all those years, and he could really do without the runs to the cash and carry,â Mum says.
âThatâs true,â Dad agrees, and the realisation that, although heâs nowhere nearly as old as Gran, he is sixty-eight, comes with a jolt to me. I suppose he should be enjoying retirement, playing golf and spending time with his grandchildren, not running around after my grandmother.
âIf she sold the shop,â Mum continues, âsheâd have more than enough money to live by the sea, with some left over.â
âItâs a dying business,â Dad adds. âThe Village News is losing money and that canât continue for much longer.â
âBecause you can see Sarahâs inheritance disappearing,â Gran interrupts as she walks back into the kitchen. âJimâs always wanted to get his hands on my money.â
âYou know that isnât true.â My father
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