The Craft of Fiction – Class Blog

Lesson 7

My boss at the hairdresser’s knows that I need money. And she knows why.  Nothing sinister, I guarantee. So, I am grateful when one of her clients calls me over, when she is having her hair shampooed and set in the salon.

Mrs Y is an elderly lady, in fact she tells me she is 79, before I have even asked if I can get her a coffee. I sit beside her and she tells me that she has been delicate since the birth of her daughter, who is now 40. Complications led to her having a heart monitor fitted and part of her colon removed, and she now has a colostomy bag.

Since her husband passed away, she needs staff in her house, so that she is not in the house alone. Someone is needed every Saturday evening and to sleep over until Sunday morning. All I would need to do is to take her dog, a sweet- faced cockerpoo for a brief walk, then keep Mrs Y company and cook her some supper, before I make some cocoa and see her up to her bedroom. Then clear up in the kitchen and sleep in the bedroom next to Mrs Y.

It pays well and she mentions that Josie in the Hairdresser’s has given me a glowing recommendation. I debate for five minutes or so, then I agree to turn up at the house the next morning, (Sunday), with a view to meeting her general factotum for an interview, before starting the following Saturday at 6.30pm. When Mrs Y leaves, Josie gives me the heads up, Mrs Y is a bit spoilt, is the granddaughter of Winston Churchill and can be a real madam. Way to sell the job, Josie!

When I get home at lunchtime on that Saturday, I mention it to my other half. I have a few tears, as I am so tired and I miss being with my family already, let alone being separated from them on a Saturday evening. But my debts won’t clear themselves, even if I am doing four jobs already.

I venture up to the Manor House in Insley the next morning to meet MJ, who is a delight to talk to and who talks candidly about what a great time he and Mrs Y have. They go to Ringwood for a Chinese Buffet if he can’t be bothered to cook Sunday lunch, or they sometimes go to a local pub, or the Harbour Cliff Hotel in Highcliffe and sit and read papers from coffee time, through lunch time to evening meal or cream tea, whatever they want. It sounds like a nice life if you can get it.

He shows me around the house, especially all of the locks and bolts, explains the house alarm and how to lock the electric gates when we retire for the night. I find it hard to concentrate, because I am noticing details in all of the rooms and how 1940’s the décor is, although it is not old, but in the style of. Such a lot of Art Nouveau and delicate touches, such as the stained glass in the arch above the stairwell and the cascading arches in the master bathroom, over the huge bath, with jacuzzi jets and mood lighting.

The sun looks as if it is blessing the house, streaming through the window and catching the dust beam fingers in sparkling patterns. As all of the rooms overlook the parkland that the Manor House stands in, the scene from every window is bucolic, deer scattering as a tractor is driven across the velvet swards of grassland, cows move lazily in the fields behind the copse at the end of the pasture and the warmth of the September Sunday morning seeps through the very bricks.

Then it was out into the garden, across two of the lawns and down a path next to the prolifically flowering rose bushes. Roses of every colour and several scented ones too. Mixed with the lavender and the rosemary between the rose bushes and climbing types, entwining with the clematis and honeysuckle along the wall that acted as a background to the beautiful flower beds. And the scent is fabulous. If only it could be bottled!

We come upon a cabin, very nicely done out, with soft chairs, bookcases full of books, and a small stove and kettle.

Then we turn round to the main event – a heated swimming pool! It looks so inviting, the sun glimmering on the water and I realised then what a haven of beauty this house is. I am assured that we could make use of it, all I have to do is leave him a message on his phone or come and look in the Diary of House things. If there was nothing in there for that day, pop my name in and use it.

And so began a lovely nine months of being company for Mrs Y, a dear old lady, who had a party for her 80^th birthday and then discovered she was really only 79… Marching bands, several distinguished RAF senior officers and even more retired ones came along.  It seems that her husband was one of the few that we owed our victory to in the war. I saw one of his logs, the flights recorded and some of the comments, he flew in the Battle of Britain and his wife was so proud of his participation, even 60 years later.

I swam in the pool regularly with my children from September to November and then again from May to September, and I hope that it made up to my kids in some way for me not being there on a Saturday night. I learned how to make scrambled eggs and omelettes, martinis and a lot about Mrs Y. She was a published author of children’s books, particularly horse adventures. They were good too. There were first editions of them on the bookshelves in the cabin by the pool.

 She and her husband went to a lot of parties with film stars before, during and after the war, David Niven once accidentally left the handbrake off and drove a staff car into the ornamental pond.  Then another time, he went skinny dipping with three other actors each with a Santa Claus hat on in the middle of summer. And not on their heads. She swore me to secrecy about who the others were. Shhh

On the first day of my visit home, my mother criticized my marriage, and it turned into a terrible fight which ended with my leaving in the middle of a storm.

I hadn’t been home for a few months. I loved my parents, but being newly married and with a full- time job, I had to commit to developing relationships with others in my new town and support my new husband in securing a place in his company, with his new boss.

Our house was slowly being redecorated, mainly by me, as a sop to Charlie, who had really wanted a new build, so wasn’t as keen on decorating the house. He had wanted it all done for us by the builder. I could see the potential of the larger garden, with established shrubs, an orchard, a greenhouse and a small outbuilding that I could see had housed a still at some point, suggesting that the fruit from the trees might have been made into a brandy, or a moonshine of sorts.

I had arrived early afternoon, so I could have a little time with dad first, before mum came home from her part-time job in the cafe at a local garden centre. I enjoyed chatting with dad, he talked about important things and had a measured and well-informed outlook. We took a cuppa into their greenhouse to make the most of the late autumn sunshine and dad looked at the clouds and wind speed and said, “There is a storm coming in from the east, that’ll mean thunder and high winds. That’ll bring the rest of the leaves off the trees.” We chatted about what this would do to the few remaining flowers in our gardens and then moved on to his volunteering, (local hospital radio) which is never without an amusing incident to recount. We were still laughing when mum came home. She parked in the drive and then opened the back gate, and I could see her dislike of missing out in the tightness of her upper lip. But I took no notice, my time with dad was precious and we were both different when mum was around. We absolutely did not collude, but she changed the dynamic completely.

When we sat down for dinner, I was excited. Mum had been busy and produced chicken and ham lasagne for our evening meal, my favourite – I thanked her and reiterated how much I appreciated it. I explained that meals had become scratch, quick cook, dishes – mixed with the odd takeaway. But that the new kitchen was underway and ready for me to decorate when I got back. She actually tutted! I looked to see her expression. It looked completely serious. I asked her what she meant, expressing dissatisfaction so clearly. She demurred, saying that it was nothing. She tried to exchange a look with dad. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. I let it go. Pick your battles. I had learnt that from my older sister, who has three toddlers under 4. Twins and then another baby 12 months later. I adore them. Not sure if it would be fair if I said that I would rather spend a day with them climbing and clambering all over me than half a day with mum. But it is true. Mum spouts out what she believes to be true at the time, without much reviewing of information except what the ladies at her WKG meetings might have offered in debate. (WKG is a recent innovation, think Women’s Institute, or Townswomen’s Guild who are the predecessors of WKG or Women’s Knowledge Group.) She has been proud to win two quizzes in a team from the village WKG. Dad has wisely said nothing. I definitely find it more difficult.

 Today, she pointedly asked how Charlie was getting on. I said he was getting on fine and that we had dinner with his boss last week. “And what type of house do they have?” She asked next. Their house is actually very nice. Their dining space is part of a much larger room that incorporates the kitchen, a snug and the lounge/ drawing room. I felt it was too showy. It echoed and didn’t feel cosy, or warm. Despite a huge log fire that had openings on two sides, to warm the dining area and the sitting area. The chimney came up through the floor in the middle of the room and was very much the focal point of the downstairs. Maisie, the boss’ wife was clearly proud of it, she had a party piece prepared to explain the rationale behind the two-entry fireplace. I don’t remember the punchline, because it was neither funny, nor artful.

Mum seemed to approve, because they had two en-suite bathrooms, meaning that they have a master suite and a guest suite. It would be too much for Charlie and me at our point in life, we need to negotiate the family bit before we move into executive arena. If we do…

We all carried on eating and when the plates were empty, I asked if I could take a piece of the remaining lasagne for Charlie. Mum denied there was any remaining lasagne, which surprised me, but I let it pass. If she wanted to be mean about her cooking, then let her. Mum gathered up the plates and glasses and took them into the kitchen. I gave her a minute or two and then wandered out to the kitchen and filled the kettle. “Tea or coffee?” I questioned mum and then dad and then set the places for two coffees and a tea. Mum brought the cake tin out of the pantry and we went into the sitting room. My parents have never added a conservatory onto their property, but their sitting room looks out over the garden, with floor to ceiling windows and if we want to get a bit of the sun out of the summer months, we can always sit in the greenhouse, like dad and I had earlier.

The room seemed to settle around us, holding its breath. I felt uneasy. Dad was looking shifty.

Mum took a deep breath, sighed and said“Sheena, you know that we wouldn’t interfere in your life, but there are some things that have made us uncomfortable, me, your dad and Sarah need to set the record straight. You need to know that you have been ploughing all of your energy into a relationship that is no more than a shell.”

I spluttered, genuinely aghast. But I could only manage a feeble, “What?”

Mum went on, as if she had rehearsed this, she probably had.

“You should know that on the day of your wedding, Charlie was in a pub with Mark, John, Colin and Robert, being persuaded to turn up for the ceremony. Charlie was going to back out.”

“Your wedding only went ahead because they knew how broken-hearted you would be. And I cannot bear to see how tired you are struggling to keep everything going, when that man is only there in spirit, never as committed as you are.”

I thought that was bad enough, but she went in for the kill.

“There was another woman. She worked in the bank too and they were spotted together at every opportunity.”

“Thanks mum, for blindsiding me like that!” I retorted

“How dare you set yourself up as judge and jury and condemn Charlie. Who isn’t even here to defend himself!”

“Sheena, it was Sarah’s Rob who saw them together and who was in the pub instead of helping Sarah look after their three.”

I vaguely remember Sarah being frazzled and annoyed with Rob but thought it was just family stuff.

I suddenly felt furious. Some of it was with Charlie, who would have a lot of explaining to do when I got hold of him. But a lot of it was aimed, straight as an arrow right at my mother!

I knew that I couldn’t stay here. Not if I wanted to remain sane and not have to go to prison.

I raced up the stairs to get my luggage, only an overnight bag, plus a tote bag full of the things I had been looking forward to getting on with. A magazine, a book, a notebook and a hot water bottle. I took a quick look about the room. I might never be here in this room again. This felt like a pivotal moment. The point at which everything in my life changed. I shoved my overcoat into the bag and scuttled down the stairs again in my slippers. I sat on the bottom stair and tied my walking and gardening boots, with a reinforced toe cap, then dropped the slippers into the bag. My dad was hovering. He pressed a Tupperware box and a thermos flask into my hand. Then took the hot water bottle to refill, he murmured that I would find a use for all of these, nodding to the weather outside.

It was then I became aware of the noisy wind and rain battering against the door. That wasn’t good, my trip home was a picturesque but treacherous drive in fine weather, driving over and around barras and incredible valley bowls. I would just have to be careful.

Sitting behind the wheel, I was overwhelmed suddenly with the enormity of what I had heard and what it might mean for my future. I decided not to let Charlie know I was on my way home, he would be able to talk me round and come up with excuses for everything and I needed to let it brew for a while.

After I had cried and sobbed for the first hour of the drive. I began to wonder if it was worth being careful. It would be so convenient for everyone if I had an accident on the road.  If I disappeared, only my dad would miss me. I realised that I was feeling sorry for myself, and I was so tired and defeated, it was better to pull into a sheltered part of the road, below a hill and around a bend and rest. My life wasn’t over, just because my husband was less than enthusiastic about being married than I was.

I turned off the engine and slipped into the back seat, pulled on the sleeping bag that I always kept in the boot, cuddled the hot water bottle and sobbed myself to sleep. What would the world look like tomorrow?

I have to confess; I am a catastrophiser. (Yes, it’s a word – my therapist told me so…)

What it means is that any given situation that arises could get worse and in my head it does, before, after and especially during any incident. For example, if I hear a siren, no matter which of the emergency services it is, it must be for one of my loved ones. I have to mentally tick them off as not in this area and safe, before I can settle again.

My kids get annoyed; they are all 28 and upwards. It’s time you stopped worrying about me says the oldest – I smile and apologise, but I can’t switch it off!

So, the other night, when I was on my own at home, (hardly ever happens now we are retired and the kids are in their own homes), my very fertile imagination went riotously haywire and warned me about the catastrophes that awaited me.

My husband rang me at about nine pm. We chatted for a bit. He had toddled off on a bird-watching trip to locate a ‘life tick’, on Shetland.  A whole day travelling there, an overnight at the hostel and then whole day getting back home again. And add another overnight at the hostel, if they didn’t see it today. With that as the status at present, I knew I was in for two or three nights alone, or maybe more, if he was unlucky.

I poured myself an Ovaltine, I know how to live, and walked up the stairs to bed. I allowed the dog on my bed, of course, although he would be in the kitchen usually when my husband is home. I feel better having my dog close by when I am alone.

I drank my drink, brushed my teeth, read a few pages of my book. Tried to remember the name of the film I had been half watching and switched the lamp off.

Snuggling down, I was using my memory assists to remember the name of that pesky film… I tried alphabetically, then by genre, then by the lead characters. Still nothing, but I couldn’t bring it to mind.

I’d sleep on it and then see if I am any the wiser. I slide sideways into my dream. I don’t recognise where I am, but I am not scared. I can hear voices, they are coming through the slightly open door in the far corner of the room, that is lit by the light spilling out of the slight crack. There are two voices, both men. I creep closer to the door, pressing myself against the wall, darker and in shadow. I can see them through the crack. Picking up the bits from my mum’s home, from her box of treasure and putting them in their bags. One of them got tired of the slow pace and upended the box into his bag. Then handed the box to the other man, who squawked, overturning the ornate mahogany coat stand, sending it crashing to the floor.

I sat up, completely awake. I could hear scuffling coming from downstairs. The hairs on the back of my neck were raised – I knew how the dog must be feeling, he was on alert and started scratching at the bedroom door, I shushed him. The voices were loud and I could hear at least two, but I didn’t recognise either of them. Then there was a lot of noisy shouting and some very loud swearing. At that point, I locked the door, pulled the chest of drawers across in front of it and dialled 999. I pulled the dog into the cupboard that doubled as a wardrobe and fed him treats to distract him from wanting to defend me and the house.

Frankly, there was nothing downstairs that was of much value, and I would rather keep doggy and me safe in the bedroom. The operator answered and asked me ‘the questions’ – when it came for her entering my address on the system, she stopped and said, “let me check something.” Then she was gone for a minute or two. I was getting impatient…

The operator asked me to confirm my address and my name, together with the details of everyone at home tonight, which I did. The operator then asked me to stay where I was and went on to tell me that there were currently two police cars and five policemen in and around my house. A neighbour had seen two men in balaclavas break into my house through the garage door. They had cut the pane of glass out of the old door and using a suction tool, had lifted it out and let themselves in. The neighbour had called 999 and then ran into my house.

His wife flagged down a passing patrol car. The policemen had got in the same way the crooks had, then the neighbour had assisted the second set of policemen with the layout of the house. The operator asked me to listen out and if all was quiet, I should go down and speak to the policemen. I asked if she could confirm that the robbers were restrained. She agreed that she would and left me again, coming back in a matter of seconds, confirming that all was settled.

I felt a little silly, most people would not hide like I did. They would probably try to defend their home, not secure themselves in a cupboard. I could feel a blush beginning from the soles of my feet and started to sweat in the same sweeping pattern, resulting in beads of moisture across my top lip and a prickling across my scalp.

The two men not in a police uniform, I assumed were the robbers and as I approached, I could see they were in handcuffs. One of them I recognised as the brother of a friend – my hairdresser! I thought about our conversations recently and whether she related the minutiae of her clients. And I whispered this to the policeman, who took out their notebook and wrote it down.

The policemen made a big fuss of my dog, Tinker and praised me for keeping out of the way. Both of the burglars had knives, and it looked as though they were repeat offenders, because they had papers from another premises nearby and it looked as if they had planned to visit there after mine.

It was very quiet after they had all gone. My neighbours stayed and had a cup of tea with me, holding the mug steady when my hands were shaking too much to reach my mouth safely. I felt such lethargy, I couldn’t move. My speaking voice was hoarse and slow; my hands would not stop shaking. When they finally left, I crumbled and sobbed. I could have slept right there and then; the dog was snuggled up to me as I had slipped down into a soggy bundle on the sofa. In fact, I think I did sleep there for a couple of hours.

Then I let the dog out into the garden and began to clear up. I was shocked to find my mum’s treasure box on the floor. Carefully, not sure if I was allowed to touch it, although why would we need forensics, when the perpetrators were caught red-handed? I began to put her things back. That made me start, they are mine now.

It was still only 6.45am, but I was going to call my husband. I needed him and I was going to be selfish. He could go to Shetland another time.

Archie glared at the small group at the end of the lounge. He thought,
that slimy sod Brian is all over Trudy. She is laughing at something he said now and she is really finding his conversation entertaining- she had thrown her head back in amusement, she hasn’t laughed with me like that for a long time. -When did we stop laughing together? We used to find the same things funny and enjoyed a comedy film, or play. Now she was back at work, we hardly go out at all. Why was that? Did it have anything to do with sleaze ball?
She went back to work for a new company, and she had settled in well, staying behind for drinks on Friday, which was the only full day she worked. Two half days and one full day. She was doing a hell of a lot of prep with the kids and the house to keep up with the chores, but she always liked to be organised.

I am going to punch Brian on the nose. She is my wife; the mother of my kids and she worked very hard for them and for him. I am going to stop her laughing at the slime puff ball that was Brian. Obviously, I don’t like the way I am thinking about Trudy being his, or even mine, like a possession, but I want to put my rival off.

If Archie could read Brian’s thoughts, he would punch him harder,
I can feel Archie’s eyes on me, but that’s not my fault. I am not doing anything wrong, just enjoying a chat with a beautiful woman, who is laughing at my jokes. There is no law against that. She seems an intelligent woman and able to contribute an opinion to my comments, she clearly understood the premise upon what I am talking. Not like some women, who laughed and then laughed louder, when I validate my point. She refused to allow me to use the same argument for proposing and then backing up my theory. She put forward one of her own. Clearly and logically, with an acceptable valid point of support for her suggestion. I am in danger of losing the argument if I’m not more flexible in my discussion methods. I need to pull on my school debating experience. “The strongest and most irrefutable evidence is first hand and supported by further evidential types” just popped into my head. I didn’t even know that I knew that.
Oh, woopsie. My face has gone from intelligently interested to besotted and dim -it’s because I am trying to think of two things at once. I can feel the slackening of my jaw and that is never a good sign I turn around to look at the people behind me, hoping for some distraction. By the. time I turn around, Archie is right in front of me. With his arm around Trudy and his face belligerently up to mine. I step back; his breath smells of beer and fishy canapes. Trudy is standing wide eyed and she is cross with him. That’s one thing anyway. Doesn’t look like he will get laid tonight. A big smile appears on my face, just as I feel Archie’s rock-hard punch break my nose.

Nothing Much to Report

In this story, Becky has been asked to meet up with Hugh. The occasion is a new take on a school reunion, instead of one date for the event, that some people may have already been busy, or unable to attend, -throughout the year, each committee member has to get one of the old girls, or boys, to invite someone that they can lord it over and report back to the committee. Members are encouraged to invite somebody that they were not friends with at school, which would make it easier.

Becky has to make their invitee someone that is an ‘oik’ and upset them three times. There is a camera hidden in the flowers on the table, which Hugh won’t know about. Becky is a little nervous about her task and has not really enjoyed the cinema evenings nor the recordings that have been sent out to a select few that the main committee have chosen. She feels that they are disrespectful and unkind. She is going to see how this evening goes and then blow the whistle on the very rude group that run the committee currently. She has spoken to a few others, and they all feel the same.

Hugh tidied his tie as he waited in line to be shown to his table. He was a little impressed that they were eating here. It was a three week wait for a table and even then, you were subject to being bumped if someone more desirable than you turned up on spec. It was unfair, but it made good headlines in the celebrity magazines. He was a little uncomfortable in the three-piece suit and the tie, but it was required, he had been told and he knew when he had to do his duty.

The Maître’ d sidled up to Hugh and beckoned for him to come with, to the table, Becky was sat up tall and looked amazing in a blue and silver dress with a low neckline showing off a dazzling sapphire necklace.

She half rose to greet him with a kiss, “On both cheeks Hugh”, she murmured in his ear. He grinned devilishly and pulled her gently towards him.

“And the best of all is three, for people you know well,” he responded quietly to her chagrin.

They both sat down, their little game of one upmanship paused.

They perused the menu and ordered without hassle; he admired that she didn’t spend 20 minutes looking at everything and then ordering what equated to dry toast and fungus. And that she understood the wine list, interpreting the smug way the wine was described.

She liked that he didn’t pressurise her to have the most expensive item on the menu or impose his taste on her. And how he allowed her to choose her own wine.

They were both grateful that they didn’t have to order champagne, as neither enjoyed the taste, nor the cost.

“I never see the point of paying the inflated cost for fizzy wine just because it was made in a particular part of France. I find the Brut disappointing, but truthfully, I am more than happy with Veuve Cliquot if champagne is called for.” She said in a low voice.

He carried on from her conversation, “It’s becoming ok to have a sparkling offering from a different country, Prosecco is a little sweet, but Cava is acceptable, at the medium to high price range, but ladies seem to think that you’re a cheapskate if champagne is not what you order. But I feel that it is sleazy, offering someone champagne, just to impress them. Especially if you don’t drink it yourself.” He said. Then – “I have an allergy to French wine, it’s in the water apparently, but I usually steer clear of the grapes too, just in case. Even if they have been grown in South Africa, or America.”

She smiled, saying, “I can’t bear Shiraz, the grapes are like raisins before they are even picked, shrivelled little fruit with no juice at all. And it always tastes like butter!”

They laughed and Hugh congratulated himself. ‘This is going well – I can’t remember when I last felt so at ease with a girl.’ He thought as he listened to a story that Becky told well about one of her employees and a problem he had with a wine supplier.

Becky continued, “He thought he would be memorable to the young vintner, if he ordered the wine in the language of the country, in this case, Spanish. He ordered Trece, wanting 3 cases and was delivered 13.

It wasn’t even prestigious enough to give to the companies we interact with. So, he ended up with 156 bottles – actually, no 12 more, because they gave him an additional case -like a baker’s dozen, only a vintner’s thirteen. And they didn’t accept returns, so at every Christmas since, everybody he gives gifts to has received a bottle of Spanish wine.”

Their starters came and they ate them quietly; she asked him if his was ok and he offered her a taste. It was strangely intimate, accepting a bit off of each other’s fork, but they each raved over the other’s choice.

They each poured water into a glass, “to keep a clear head,” said Hugh. “To pace ourselves,” whispered Becky and they smiled again.

Their main course came and they felt easier swapping pieces of their meal with each other. Each decided that what they had was the best but agreed that they would not have been disappointed with the other dish.

Becky began to feel a little on edge; she didn’t expect Hugh to look so good. He was just a car salesman, while she was the CEO of a top performing recruitment company. When she had drawn his name in the stupid ‘Check In’ college reunion with a difference lottery, she was delighted, someone she could show up, or impress with her accomplishments and her savoir faire in the most popular ‘hot restaurant’ in town. Instead, she felt like the country hick out of her league and she didn’t appreciate it. She immediately felt sorry for anyone that she had pulled this trick on previously. 

When the dessert menu came, she was stuck on which to choose. She pinched her lip as she read decadent description after another. Surely one must be a dud, she thought. Hugh cleared his throat and she looked up.

“Shall we share half and half?”

 She smiled, not just her then. “There are so many and all sound so good!”

The waiter stepped closer and in a low voice said, “If you are having difficulty choosing, we have been experimenting on offering a taste of each of them, as a solution. The cost is the same as the other desserts.”

Becky and Hugh nodded. “Yes fab,” Becky enthused and Hugh murmured, “Oh yes…”

While they were waiting, they both started to talk;

“We didn‘t get on…”

“I don’t really think…”

“You go first,” offered Hugh.

“I was going to say that we weren’t in the same groups at college, but I’ve enjoyed tonight, even if we didn’t have anything to talk about. We haven’t sat in silence…”

Hugh agreed, “We also haven’t had to reminisce about people we barely remember and would have kept in touch with if we liked them enough 10 years ago.”

He looked up at Becky and said, “No offense meant.”

She shook her head and chuckled, “None taken.”

The waiter brought them their deserts and they ate them, awarding each one marks out of 10 and verbally deconstructing the pudding. Each one was as delicious as the menu had made them seem. They drafted out a review on Trip Advisor and giggled and laughed their way through deserts and coffee.

“So how about dinner next week?” He said, “I know this amazing little Indian restaurant in Netherborough. They treat the diners like family friends; I can really recommend it.”

“That sounds great, I love Indian food and spent a month in India last year to celebrate my brother’s wedding to Rani and get to know his in laws. So, lots to talk about!”

They rose and gathered their coats, her handbag and (surreptitiously), the microphone from the flowers. Hugh didn’t see it, but she would definitely tell him about it one day.