here for lunch on Monday,’ she reminded him.
‘What are you up to now? It’s your day off, isn’t it?’
Callie sighed. ‘Actually, I was steeling myself. To go and see Mum this afternoon. I was just about to ring her.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ he offered. ‘It’s always easier for both of us that way.’
‘Oh, that would be great.’ It was true: their mother couldn’t aim at two targets simultaneously.
‘Why don’t we have lunch first?’ Peter suggested. ‘My treat,’ he added grandly. ‘McDonald’s.’
‘Surely you could stretch to Prêt à Manger. After all the meals I’ve given you.’
He chuckled, unrepentant. ‘Better yet, how about Pizza Express?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘In about an hour? The one in the Earl’s Court Road? That’s the closest one to Mum’s, I think.’
Callie looked at her watch. ‘That should work. I’ll give Mum a ring.’
‘See you, then.’ In a provocative voice he added, ‘I have something interesting to tell you.’
Oh, no, thought Callie. He must have a new boyfriend. Another doomed relationship.
When it came to his love life, Peter was both a romantic and an optimist: an attractive but dangerous combination. He embarked on each new relationship with enthusiasm, certain that this one would be the one. And the inevitable disappointments never got him down for long. Through it all, Callie was his confidante, his sounding board, rejoicing with him and then consoling him. She wasn’t sure that she was up to it today.
Sure enough, Peter was more than usually ebullient, waiting for her just inside Pizza Express, out of the rain. It wasn’t like Peter to be early—not for anything.
She may as well get it over with, Callie decided. ‘What’s this all about?’ she asked as they were shown to their table.
‘All in good time, Sis.’
The waiter hovered. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
Peter raised an eyebrow at Callie. ‘We’re on with Mum?’
‘Yes. At half-past two.’
He turned back to the waiter. ‘Then yes. Definitely. A bottle of house red.’
‘A whole bottle of wine at lunch?’ Callie protested half- heartedly .
‘I may even order a second bottle. It’s Mum, remember.’
Their mother. A bitter woman who blamed her husband for dying on her. A woman who never approved of anything that either of her children did. Who was always complaining that they didn’t visit her enough, yet seemed to find their visits tiresome and inconvenient. Who was still, in spite of all the evidence, trying to find a nice girl for her son to marry.
Callie held out her glass as soon as the bottle arrived.
Peter was looking at the menu. ‘I think I’ll have the American Hot. Or the Hot American, as I like to call it.’ He grinned. ‘I live in hope.’
‘I can’t resist the Veneziana,’ Callie said with an answering smile.
‘Funny you should say that.’ Peter put the menu down on the table and clinked glasses with her. ‘It reminds me of what I wanted to tell you.’
‘It does?’
‘You’ll never guess where I had lunch yesterday.’
Callie shook her head.
‘La Venezia. In Camberwell.’ He took a sip of wine, watching her reaction over the rim of the glass.
She stared at him, aghast. ‘Peter! You didn’t!’
‘I did. And I must say, the food was divine.’
Marco’s family’s restaurant. In spite of her repeated hints, Marco had never taken her there. She was beginning be paranoidabout it, to think that there was some reason he didn’t want her to meet his family. ‘But…’ she sputtered.
Peter was hugely pleased with himself. ‘It wasn’t easy getting in, mind. The place was packed. All those grim works Christmas lunches—crackers and silly paper crowns. But I flirted with one of the waiters, and he found me a little table in the corner.’
She groaned aloud: worse and worse.
‘And then someone different came to take my order. A woman, and she seemed to be in charge. I reckon she was Marco’s sister. About
‘What are you up to now? It’s your day off, isn’t it?’
Callie sighed. ‘Actually, I was steeling myself. To go and see Mum this afternoon. I was just about to ring her.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ he offered. ‘It’s always easier for both of us that way.’
‘Oh, that would be great.’ It was true: their mother couldn’t aim at two targets simultaneously.
‘Why don’t we have lunch first?’ Peter suggested. ‘My treat,’ he added grandly. ‘McDonald’s.’
‘Surely you could stretch to Prêt à Manger. After all the meals I’ve given you.’
He chuckled, unrepentant. ‘Better yet, how about Pizza Express?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘In about an hour? The one in the Earl’s Court Road? That’s the closest one to Mum’s, I think.’
Callie looked at her watch. ‘That should work. I’ll give Mum a ring.’
‘See you, then.’ In a provocative voice he added, ‘I have something interesting to tell you.’
Oh, no, thought Callie. He must have a new boyfriend. Another doomed relationship.
When it came to his love life, Peter was both a romantic and an optimist: an attractive but dangerous combination. He embarked on each new relationship with enthusiasm, certain that this one would be the one. And the inevitable disappointments never got him down for long. Through it all, Callie was his confidante, his sounding board, rejoicing with him and then consoling him. She wasn’t sure that she was up to it today.
Sure enough, Peter was more than usually ebullient, waiting for her just inside Pizza Express, out of the rain. It wasn’t like Peter to be early—not for anything.
She may as well get it over with, Callie decided. ‘What’s this all about?’ she asked as they were shown to their table.
‘All in good time, Sis.’
The waiter hovered. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
Peter raised an eyebrow at Callie. ‘We’re on with Mum?’
‘Yes. At half-past two.’
He turned back to the waiter. ‘Then yes. Definitely. A bottle of house red.’
‘A whole bottle of wine at lunch?’ Callie protested half- heartedly .
‘I may even order a second bottle. It’s Mum, remember.’
Their mother. A bitter woman who blamed her husband for dying on her. A woman who never approved of anything that either of her children did. Who was always complaining that they didn’t visit her enough, yet seemed to find their visits tiresome and inconvenient. Who was still, in spite of all the evidence, trying to find a nice girl for her son to marry.
Callie held out her glass as soon as the bottle arrived.
Peter was looking at the menu. ‘I think I’ll have the American Hot. Or the Hot American, as I like to call it.’ He grinned. ‘I live in hope.’
‘I can’t resist the Veneziana,’ Callie said with an answering smile.
‘Funny you should say that.’ Peter put the menu down on the table and clinked glasses with her. ‘It reminds me of what I wanted to tell you.’
‘It does?’
‘You’ll never guess where I had lunch yesterday.’
Callie shook her head.
‘La Venezia. In Camberwell.’ He took a sip of wine, watching her reaction over the rim of the glass.
She stared at him, aghast. ‘Peter! You didn’t!’
‘I did. And I must say, the food was divine.’
Marco’s family’s restaurant. In spite of her repeated hints, Marco had never taken her there. She was beginning be paranoidabout it, to think that there was some reason he didn’t want her to meet his family. ‘But…’ she sputtered.
Peter was hugely pleased with himself. ‘It wasn’t easy getting in, mind. The place was packed. All those grim works Christmas lunches—crackers and silly paper crowns. But I flirted with one of the waiters, and he found me a little table in the corner.’
She groaned aloud: worse and worse.
‘And then someone different came to take my order. A woman, and she seemed to be in charge. I reckon she was Marco’s sister. About
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