she’s keeping a tally of the number of times we invite her here … Here’s one you won’t have seen before – Charlie Dimmock, grown from a cutting my sister gave me … Ridiculous, isn’t it? As if she needs to wait for an invitation … and neither do you, we see far too little of you, Harry’s always asking where “Tee-Anna” is … That big pink one’s Sir Alf Ramsey … He can be a right little imp though, much worse than his brother, needs a firm hand. But, as I tell Charles, it’s not my place to discipline them, grandchildren are for spoiling. Maybe if Mona did more with them, they’d be less of a handful – don’t suppose you could drop a few hints? … Barbara’s Pastelle, a medium semi-cactus variety, Roger’s favourite because of the name. Not the Barbara bit, he says, more the suggestion of fruit pastilles. Cheeky old thing … And I often have to bribe them with biscuits, but at least they’re home made, none of that shop-bought rubbish Mona gives them. That reminds me, come into the kitchen and try one of my cheese straws, there’s something wrong with them but I can’t decide what.’
Roger came striding towards them. ‘An-na!’ A hug and a kiss – more of a brush with his beard – then a frown as she handed him a card and a present. ‘What’s this, what’s this? I gave strict orders, no presents.’ His face brightened as he undid the wrapping paper. ‘Marvellous! Where on earth did you find it? I’ve been looking for one of these.’ He turned the little horse brass over in his hands. ‘Two bells, not just one, you see?’ Another kiss, a furtive look round and a lowering of the voice. ‘By the way, will you have a word with Mona? They’re overdrawn again and Charles can’t seem to get through to her. Poor chap hates coming to us to bail them out, doesn’t he, Barb?’
But Barbara wasn’t listening; she was looking anxiously at Anna. ‘You need fattening up, my dear. Let’s go and see what Henrietta’s doing with the lunch.’
She hustled Anna back up the garden and into the kitchen, where both her daughters were giggling uncontrollably.
‘I – dare – you,’ Henrietta gasped, the tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘He might think – oh, Anna, great to see you. Lou’s just been practising her chat-up line for Rick Wentworth, it’s hysterical, she’s going to–’
‘I’ll be hysterical in a minute,’ Barbara put in. ‘For one thing, Rick Wentworth’s practically engaged and the only person who’s allowed to chat him up is a respectable married woman, like me. For another thing, where’s the lunch? If we want to eat all frisky, we’d better get a move on. Your father says it’s going to rain.’
This set Lou and Henrietta off again. ‘All – frisky!’ they spluttered.
Barbara turned to Anna and tried to sound cross. ‘They’re horrible, aren’t they? What’s wrong with all frisky? That’ll be Roger after a few drinks, I can tell you.’
Anna laughed, for the third time in little more than ten minutes; the Land of Musgrove was already working its magic. With her offers of help refused, and Barbara’s offer of a cheese straw reluctantly accepted, she leaned back against the dresser to survey the scene. It was utter chaos, but she saw only three women whose mutual bond of affection made everything else irrelevant. Lou – ‘ never call me Louisa, it takes far too long to say’ – was big-boned like her mother but dark-haired and dark-eyed like her father, with an attractive vitality that Anna almost envied. Henrietta – ‘ always call me Henrietta, I hate anything shorter’ – was small, brown-haired and, on the face of it, far quieter; but she was never content to be in her elder sister’s shadow. And Barbara was like an indulgent mother hen; she may have given up on Charles’s happiness, but she was still full of hope for her girls.
Barbara’s words had the desired effect and lunch was soon ready. In anticipation of rain,
Roger came striding towards them. ‘An-na!’ A hug and a kiss – more of a brush with his beard – then a frown as she handed him a card and a present. ‘What’s this, what’s this? I gave strict orders, no presents.’ His face brightened as he undid the wrapping paper. ‘Marvellous! Where on earth did you find it? I’ve been looking for one of these.’ He turned the little horse brass over in his hands. ‘Two bells, not just one, you see?’ Another kiss, a furtive look round and a lowering of the voice. ‘By the way, will you have a word with Mona? They’re overdrawn again and Charles can’t seem to get through to her. Poor chap hates coming to us to bail them out, doesn’t he, Barb?’
But Barbara wasn’t listening; she was looking anxiously at Anna. ‘You need fattening up, my dear. Let’s go and see what Henrietta’s doing with the lunch.’
She hustled Anna back up the garden and into the kitchen, where both her daughters were giggling uncontrollably.
‘I – dare – you,’ Henrietta gasped, the tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘He might think – oh, Anna, great to see you. Lou’s just been practising her chat-up line for Rick Wentworth, it’s hysterical, she’s going to–’
‘I’ll be hysterical in a minute,’ Barbara put in. ‘For one thing, Rick Wentworth’s practically engaged and the only person who’s allowed to chat him up is a respectable married woman, like me. For another thing, where’s the lunch? If we want to eat all frisky, we’d better get a move on. Your father says it’s going to rain.’
This set Lou and Henrietta off again. ‘All – frisky!’ they spluttered.
Barbara turned to Anna and tried to sound cross. ‘They’re horrible, aren’t they? What’s wrong with all frisky? That’ll be Roger after a few drinks, I can tell you.’
Anna laughed, for the third time in little more than ten minutes; the Land of Musgrove was already working its magic. With her offers of help refused, and Barbara’s offer of a cheese straw reluctantly accepted, she leaned back against the dresser to survey the scene. It was utter chaos, but she saw only three women whose mutual bond of affection made everything else irrelevant. Lou – ‘ never call me Louisa, it takes far too long to say’ – was big-boned like her mother but dark-haired and dark-eyed like her father, with an attractive vitality that Anna almost envied. Henrietta – ‘ always call me Henrietta, I hate anything shorter’ – was small, brown-haired and, on the face of it, far quieter; but she was never content to be in her elder sister’s shadow. And Barbara was like an indulgent mother hen; she may have given up on Charles’s happiness, but she was still full of hope for her girls.
Barbara’s words had the desired effect and lunch was soon ready. In anticipation of rain,
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