her heart broken? She shook her head. No, bruised a bit and her pride battered, but nothing terminal … And of course there was always Shay who surely wasn’t fickle or a liar and who was a zillion times better than Niall. Maybe, she thought, turning back into the shop, now was exactly the right time to see if Mitzi’s magic really worked …
Chapter Seven
So far so good, Mitzi thought as she loaded the holdall. Had she got everything she’d need for the first Baby Boomers Collective meeting? List of names, yes; list of what was possible to achieve and what wasn’t, yes; packets of biscuits to go with the tongue-stripping village hall tea, yes. Permission from Tarnia Snepps to use Hazy Hassocks village hall this afternoon, no; confidence, no; major butterfly attack, yes, yes, yes.
It had been a strange week: she hadn’t expected Lu to have been quite so stricken by Niall’s final goodbye, although of course Lulu had insisted it was hurt pride more than a bruised heart – nor had she expected Doll and Brett to be drifting around like love’s young dream. However, thanks to the neighbours, and her friends, and the Baby Boomers, and Granny Westward’s cookery book, Mitzi certainly hadn’t had a moment to be lonely or bored. In fact she was beginning to wonder how she’d ever found the time to go to work.
And it had stopped raining. Now the end of October was rushing in with icy northern gales and brittle, nose-numbing mornings. The trees were being stripped bare and Hazy Hassocks was disappearing under a carpet of gold and brown and russet. More telling, Richard and Judy had abandoned the washing basket and were draped over the central heating boiler, a sure sign of bitter weather to come.
Happily humming along with Radio Two, Mitzi set out two mugs on the tray and opened a fresh packet of Hobnobs. It was Flo’s turn to pop in for coffee and gossip.
‘Come in,’ she called hearing the knock on the back door, ‘the kettle’s boiling and – oh! What on earth do you want?’
Lance, looking a bit flushed and straightening his hair, grinned sheepishly round the kitchen door. ‘Lovely warm greeting. Thanks, love.’
‘Don’t call me love.’
‘No, okay, sorry – old habits and all that …’ Lance pulled out a chair and sat comfortably at the kitchen table. ‘It’s so cosy in here. Really snug after our all-white and stainless steel. I get quite nostalgic for the days of magnolia and Dralon. And you look – well – wonderful … Retirement suits you.’
Mitzi made a little tsking noise of irritation. ‘You know damn well the magnolia and Dralon went out of the door when you did. And you can cut out all the soft soap too. What’s up? Had a row with The Harpy? Has she got you on detox again? You’ve only come round for strong coffee and a chocolate biscuit, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, well, no of course, not just for a chocolate biscuit …’ Lance shrugged out of his black woollen coat and relaxed. ‘I was passing on the way back from one of the sites and thought I ought to call in and check that everything was okay.’
‘Everything’s fine, as always. And no longer your problem or responsibility. And yes, you can have gallons of non-decaff coffee and as many Hobnobs as you like. Okay?’
‘Great,’ he grinned at her.
Such a relief, Mitzi thought, as she turned away to reboil the kettle, that the grin no longer moved her. For the best part of her adult life Lance’s wide easygoing smile had turned her to jelly. It had taken a long time to recover from his deception. She’d never trust him, or any man, totally again.
He’d aged well, though. Not quite as well as she had, of course, but he was still lean and fit and handsome. And his hair was still brown and silky and he still had more than a touch of David Bowie about him. And his small building business was still buoyant, unlike so many others which had suffered in the recession. Handsome, gentle, kind, amusing and comfortably off.
Chapter Seven
So far so good, Mitzi thought as she loaded the holdall. Had she got everything she’d need for the first Baby Boomers Collective meeting? List of names, yes; list of what was possible to achieve and what wasn’t, yes; packets of biscuits to go with the tongue-stripping village hall tea, yes. Permission from Tarnia Snepps to use Hazy Hassocks village hall this afternoon, no; confidence, no; major butterfly attack, yes, yes, yes.
It had been a strange week: she hadn’t expected Lu to have been quite so stricken by Niall’s final goodbye, although of course Lulu had insisted it was hurt pride more than a bruised heart – nor had she expected Doll and Brett to be drifting around like love’s young dream. However, thanks to the neighbours, and her friends, and the Baby Boomers, and Granny Westward’s cookery book, Mitzi certainly hadn’t had a moment to be lonely or bored. In fact she was beginning to wonder how she’d ever found the time to go to work.
And it had stopped raining. Now the end of October was rushing in with icy northern gales and brittle, nose-numbing mornings. The trees were being stripped bare and Hazy Hassocks was disappearing under a carpet of gold and brown and russet. More telling, Richard and Judy had abandoned the washing basket and were draped over the central heating boiler, a sure sign of bitter weather to come.
Happily humming along with Radio Two, Mitzi set out two mugs on the tray and opened a fresh packet of Hobnobs. It was Flo’s turn to pop in for coffee and gossip.
‘Come in,’ she called hearing the knock on the back door, ‘the kettle’s boiling and – oh! What on earth do you want?’
Lance, looking a bit flushed and straightening his hair, grinned sheepishly round the kitchen door. ‘Lovely warm greeting. Thanks, love.’
‘Don’t call me love.’
‘No, okay, sorry – old habits and all that …’ Lance pulled out a chair and sat comfortably at the kitchen table. ‘It’s so cosy in here. Really snug after our all-white and stainless steel. I get quite nostalgic for the days of magnolia and Dralon. And you look – well – wonderful … Retirement suits you.’
Mitzi made a little tsking noise of irritation. ‘You know damn well the magnolia and Dralon went out of the door when you did. And you can cut out all the soft soap too. What’s up? Had a row with The Harpy? Has she got you on detox again? You’ve only come round for strong coffee and a chocolate biscuit, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, well, no of course, not just for a chocolate biscuit …’ Lance shrugged out of his black woollen coat and relaxed. ‘I was passing on the way back from one of the sites and thought I ought to call in and check that everything was okay.’
‘Everything’s fine, as always. And no longer your problem or responsibility. And yes, you can have gallons of non-decaff coffee and as many Hobnobs as you like. Okay?’
‘Great,’ he grinned at her.
Such a relief, Mitzi thought, as she turned away to reboil the kettle, that the grin no longer moved her. For the best part of her adult life Lance’s wide easygoing smile had turned her to jelly. It had taken a long time to recover from his deception. She’d never trust him, or any man, totally again.
He’d aged well, though. Not quite as well as she had, of course, but he was still lean and fit and handsome. And his hair was still brown and silky and he still had more than a touch of David Bowie about him. And his small building business was still buoyant, unlike so many others which had suffered in the recession. Handsome, gentle, kind, amusing and comfortably off.
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