scientists in California have been studying identical twins…”
The shop was unusually quiet the following week. As a result her paranoia began to grow. And because Ursula was in Dublin there was no one she could discuss her fears with.
Mornings at St. John’s were her only respite, sitting in the Jungle Corner with Megan and Callum and Sunil reading
Winnie the Witch
and
Mr. Gumpy’s Outing
. Especially Callum, who couldn’t sit still and look in the same direction for five seconds (sadly, she wasn’t allowed to bribe him with biscuits like she did with Jacob). But as soon as she walked out of the main doors into the car park it began nagging at her all over again.
On Thursday George announced that he’d booked the marquee firm and arranged a meeting with two caterers. This from a man who forgot his children’s birthdays. She was so surprised she didn’t even complain about the lack of consultation.
Later that evening a sinister voice in her head began to ask whether he was making her dispensable. Ready for when she moved out. Or when he told her to go.
Yet when the day of the dinner with David rolled around he was unexpectedly cheerful. He spent the day shopping and making risotto in the time-honored male way, removing all the utensils from the drawers and laying them out like surgical instruments, then decanting all the ingredients into small bowls to maximize the washing up.
She still couldn’t shake the idea that he was planning some kind of showdown, and as the tension rose during the afternoon she found herself toying with the idea of faking some kind of illness. When the doorbell finally rang just after half past seven she ran down the landing, trying to get to the door first and tripped on the loose carpet, twisting her ankle.
By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, George was standing in the hallway wiping his hands on his stripy apron, and David was handing him a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.
David noticed her hobbling a little. “Are you OK?” Instinctively he moved to comfort her, then caught himself and stepped back.
Jean put her hand on George’s arm and bent down to rub her ankle. It didn’t hurt a great deal, but she wanted to avoid David’s eye, and the fear that he might have given something away in that fraction of a second made her feel light-headed.
“Is it bad?” asked George. Thankfully he seemed to have noticed nothing.
“Not too bad,” said Jean.
“You should sit down and put your foot up,” said David. “To prevent it swelling.” He took the flowers and wine back so that George could help her.
“I’m still in the middle of cooking,” said George. “Why don’t I sit you two down with a glass of wine in the living room?”
“No,” said Jean, a little too firmly. She paused to calm herself. “We’ll come into the kitchen with you.”
George installed them at the table, pulled out a third chair for Jean’s ankle, which she didn’t really need, filled two wineglasses and returned to grating Parmesan.
It was always going to be a strange occasion, whoever their guest was. George didn’t like other people in his kennel. So she assumed the conversation would be stilted. Whenever she dragged him along to parties she would invariably find him standing disconsolately in a circle of men, as they talked about rugby and tax returns, wearing a pained expression on his face, as if he was suffering from a headache. She hoped, at least, that David would be able to fill any silences.
But to her surprise, it was George who did most of the talking. He seemed genuinely excited to have company. The two men congratulated themselves about the decline in Shepherds’ fortunes since their departure. They talked about trekking holidays in France. David talked about his gliding. George talked about his fear of flying. David suggested that learning to glide might cure the problem. George said that David clearly underestimated his fear of flying. David confessed
The shop was unusually quiet the following week. As a result her paranoia began to grow. And because Ursula was in Dublin there was no one she could discuss her fears with.
Mornings at St. John’s were her only respite, sitting in the Jungle Corner with Megan and Callum and Sunil reading
Winnie the Witch
and
Mr. Gumpy’s Outing
. Especially Callum, who couldn’t sit still and look in the same direction for five seconds (sadly, she wasn’t allowed to bribe him with biscuits like she did with Jacob). But as soon as she walked out of the main doors into the car park it began nagging at her all over again.
On Thursday George announced that he’d booked the marquee firm and arranged a meeting with two caterers. This from a man who forgot his children’s birthdays. She was so surprised she didn’t even complain about the lack of consultation.
Later that evening a sinister voice in her head began to ask whether he was making her dispensable. Ready for when she moved out. Or when he told her to go.
Yet when the day of the dinner with David rolled around he was unexpectedly cheerful. He spent the day shopping and making risotto in the time-honored male way, removing all the utensils from the drawers and laying them out like surgical instruments, then decanting all the ingredients into small bowls to maximize the washing up.
She still couldn’t shake the idea that he was planning some kind of showdown, and as the tension rose during the afternoon she found herself toying with the idea of faking some kind of illness. When the doorbell finally rang just after half past seven she ran down the landing, trying to get to the door first and tripped on the loose carpet, twisting her ankle.
By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, George was standing in the hallway wiping his hands on his stripy apron, and David was handing him a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.
David noticed her hobbling a little. “Are you OK?” Instinctively he moved to comfort her, then caught himself and stepped back.
Jean put her hand on George’s arm and bent down to rub her ankle. It didn’t hurt a great deal, but she wanted to avoid David’s eye, and the fear that he might have given something away in that fraction of a second made her feel light-headed.
“Is it bad?” asked George. Thankfully he seemed to have noticed nothing.
“Not too bad,” said Jean.
“You should sit down and put your foot up,” said David. “To prevent it swelling.” He took the flowers and wine back so that George could help her.
“I’m still in the middle of cooking,” said George. “Why don’t I sit you two down with a glass of wine in the living room?”
“No,” said Jean, a little too firmly. She paused to calm herself. “We’ll come into the kitchen with you.”
George installed them at the table, pulled out a third chair for Jean’s ankle, which she didn’t really need, filled two wineglasses and returned to grating Parmesan.
It was always going to be a strange occasion, whoever their guest was. George didn’t like other people in his kennel. So she assumed the conversation would be stilted. Whenever she dragged him along to parties she would invariably find him standing disconsolately in a circle of men, as they talked about rugby and tax returns, wearing a pained expression on his face, as if he was suffering from a headache. She hoped, at least, that David would be able to fill any silences.
But to her surprise, it was George who did most of the talking. He seemed genuinely excited to have company. The two men congratulated themselves about the decline in Shepherds’ fortunes since their departure. They talked about trekking holidays in France. David talked about his gliding. George talked about his fear of flying. David suggested that learning to glide might cure the problem. George said that David clearly underestimated his fear of flying. David confessed
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