tea-towel.
'Never again,' Mo swore. 'I feel wonderful.'
Martha turned round. 'Mo? Is that you? I thought it was your shadow.' She was genuinely concerned.
'Thanks, Mrs F,' grinned Mo.
Martha ignored Mo's mistake and turned back to discuss Jeffrey's latest arthritis treatment with George while Josie was called into the lounge because Ben had hurt himself. He'd screamed even more when his daddy had tried to help.
'I've booked us in for a class tomorrow,' said Mo to Jazz.
'Pardon?'
'Step aerobics. You'll love it. Then we'll have a steam room and a sauna.'
Jazz just stared at Mo. 'You hate me, don't you?'
Mo just smiled smugly.
* * * * *
How should George chuck Simon? For the first time in her life, with her thirtieth birthday drifting away from her at a startling speed, Georgia Field was about to chuck a perfectly good man. Well, a man with all his limbs intact anyway. How to do it, though? And what if Jack proved to be a non-starter?
George had thought about this long and hard. She had considered phoning Simon at his office and telling him they 'Had To Talk', but decided against it because that was so melodramatic. She was going to take the bull by the horns and do it now. In the car on the way home from the tea-party.
Now.
She got into the passenger seat of his car, her heart thumping. She stared straight ahead into the drizzle as he reversed out, put on his shades and turned on his multilayered CD shuffle function. She didn't know why he bothered with that, every single CD in it was one by Phil Collins anyway. Surely that was reason enough to chuck the man?
They drove in silence for a while. She just didn't know how to start the conversation. What if he got so angry that he drove them into an oncoming car so as not to lose her to anyone else? What if he shouted at her? What if he talked her out of it? But then one thought gave her courage. She pictured Jack's smiling, intent face.
She gave a small cough.
No reaction. He was mouthing the words to 'Mama', his all-time favourite Phil Collins track and tapping – out of time – on the leather steering wheel. Before she realised it, he was parking in West Hampstead. And now he would ask her if she'd be able to supply him in the caffeine area. She always hated it when he did that.
He turned the engine off, took off his shades, smiled at her and rested his hand on the wheel.
'Fancy furnishing me in the caffeine area?' he asked with a wink.
'Uh huh,' she said weakly and they got out of the car.
* * * * *
George flicked on the lights and Simon immediately plonked himself down in the middle of the three-seater couch. With a big sigh he picked up the paper lying on the coffee table, and turned it to the sports page. Suddenly George realised she hated him.
'We have to talk,' she said.
He didn't take his eyes off the paper.
'Sure, shoot,' he said.
Oh good God, did he really have to use sporting metaphors? Well, here was a googly for him.
'Um,' she said softly. 'Um . . .'
He looked up and smiled at her expectantly, his eyebrows raised, as if she was a blithering fool. She blinked at him like a blithering fool.
'Are you all right?' he asked.
Her ashen face answered him eloquently and for the first time he got a bit concerned. He'd seen that look before.
'Are you about to chuck me or are you dying of some mysterious disease?' he asked in mock seriousness. It was early days in the relationship and he wasn't sure yet which piece of news would hit him worse.
George's jaw dropped. 'I'm not dying of some mysterious disease,' she managed to say pointedly.
There! She'd said it! It wasn't so difficult after all!
'Right,' nodded Simon slowly. That hadn't worked out quite so well as he'd hoped.
There was a pause.
Now it was out in the open, George felt the black cloud that had been hovering over her head for the past month dissolve and disappear. She was suffused with a sense of goodwill to all men, including Simon.
'Coffee?' she asked sincerely.
Simon stared at
'Never again,' Mo swore. 'I feel wonderful.'
Martha turned round. 'Mo? Is that you? I thought it was your shadow.' She was genuinely concerned.
'Thanks, Mrs F,' grinned Mo.
Martha ignored Mo's mistake and turned back to discuss Jeffrey's latest arthritis treatment with George while Josie was called into the lounge because Ben had hurt himself. He'd screamed even more when his daddy had tried to help.
'I've booked us in for a class tomorrow,' said Mo to Jazz.
'Pardon?'
'Step aerobics. You'll love it. Then we'll have a steam room and a sauna.'
Jazz just stared at Mo. 'You hate me, don't you?'
Mo just smiled smugly.
* * * * *
How should George chuck Simon? For the first time in her life, with her thirtieth birthday drifting away from her at a startling speed, Georgia Field was about to chuck a perfectly good man. Well, a man with all his limbs intact anyway. How to do it, though? And what if Jack proved to be a non-starter?
George had thought about this long and hard. She had considered phoning Simon at his office and telling him they 'Had To Talk', but decided against it because that was so melodramatic. She was going to take the bull by the horns and do it now. In the car on the way home from the tea-party.
Now.
She got into the passenger seat of his car, her heart thumping. She stared straight ahead into the drizzle as he reversed out, put on his shades and turned on his multilayered CD shuffle function. She didn't know why he bothered with that, every single CD in it was one by Phil Collins anyway. Surely that was reason enough to chuck the man?
They drove in silence for a while. She just didn't know how to start the conversation. What if he got so angry that he drove them into an oncoming car so as not to lose her to anyone else? What if he shouted at her? What if he talked her out of it? But then one thought gave her courage. She pictured Jack's smiling, intent face.
She gave a small cough.
No reaction. He was mouthing the words to 'Mama', his all-time favourite Phil Collins track and tapping – out of time – on the leather steering wheel. Before she realised it, he was parking in West Hampstead. And now he would ask her if she'd be able to supply him in the caffeine area. She always hated it when he did that.
He turned the engine off, took off his shades, smiled at her and rested his hand on the wheel.
'Fancy furnishing me in the caffeine area?' he asked with a wink.
'Uh huh,' she said weakly and they got out of the car.
* * * * *
George flicked on the lights and Simon immediately plonked himself down in the middle of the three-seater couch. With a big sigh he picked up the paper lying on the coffee table, and turned it to the sports page. Suddenly George realised she hated him.
'We have to talk,' she said.
He didn't take his eyes off the paper.
'Sure, shoot,' he said.
Oh good God, did he really have to use sporting metaphors? Well, here was a googly for him.
'Um,' she said softly. 'Um . . .'
He looked up and smiled at her expectantly, his eyebrows raised, as if she was a blithering fool. She blinked at him like a blithering fool.
'Are you all right?' he asked.
Her ashen face answered him eloquently and for the first time he got a bit concerned. He'd seen that look before.
'Are you about to chuck me or are you dying of some mysterious disease?' he asked in mock seriousness. It was early days in the relationship and he wasn't sure yet which piece of news would hit him worse.
George's jaw dropped. 'I'm not dying of some mysterious disease,' she managed to say pointedly.
There! She'd said it! It wasn't so difficult after all!
'Right,' nodded Simon slowly. That hadn't worked out quite so well as he'd hoped.
There was a pause.
Now it was out in the open, George felt the black cloud that had been hovering over her head for the past month dissolve and disappear. She was suffused with a sense of goodwill to all men, including Simon.
'Coffee?' she asked sincerely.
Simon stared at
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