to the barn, which brought their playdate to an abrupt end, but they tried again two days later, this time without dogs, and their friendship was forged. It helped that Sybil found Ted’s rage over her dog funny. Most people were intimidated by Ted; it was refreshing to see someone who not only wasn’t frightened of his rage, but didn’t give a damn. Grace hoped she could learn how Sybil did it, how she was able to find Ted amusing rather than terrifying.
Years later, when Ted was raging about something and Grace was confiding in Sybil, Sybil had shaken her head. ‘He’s just a big little boy in a bad mood,’ she said. ‘They’re all overgrown little boys who need a mother figure around to tell them to stop.’
It’s all right for you, thought Grace. Your husband isn’t an internationally known bestselling author used to having the world bend over backwards for him. And yet, she saw the way Sybil was with Ted – fun, funny, natural, never sycophantic in the slightest. If Ted ever started talking about books, or writing, Sybil would start yawning and tell him she wasn’t the slightest bit interested. Which she wasn’t. And Ted, instead of being greatly offended, thought Sybil a riot. He adored her. She was the only one of Grace’s friends that he truly had time for. She made him laugh and was guaranteed to put him in a good mood.
Sybil had a husband, Michael, who decided he didn’t really want to be married or, at least, not to Sybil, and had left her a few years ago. Sybil was fuelled by hatred and a vicious, spitting fury for a little while, but then she came to realize that actually Michael was probably not a very good husband and, much to her surprise, she was much happier by herself, until she met Fred, who does seem to be her perfect match.
Always an avid gardener, she now runs courses on organic gardening and is the one person Grace can always count on. She is warm, and safe, and Grace thinks of her as more sister than friend.
Even if she is, still, always late.
T he door bursts open as Sybil bustles in, clutching a bag that is so oversized it is more of a suitcase. She has to manoeuvre her way through the tables, apologizing constantly for knocking into people with her bag, until she finally reaches Grace, leaning in to kiss her cheek before setting her bag down with a sigh and sitting down.
‘What the hell is in your bag?’ Grace starts to laugh. ‘The kitchen sink?’
‘Almost.’ Sybil hoists the bag onto her lap and starts rummaging through. ‘Magazine on gardening, couple of tools that probably shouldn’t be in there, wallet . . . God, what’s this?’ She pulls out a hairbrush, frowning before putting it back. ‘Flip-flops! There they are! I was wondering what on earth I’d done with them. And . . .’ She draws out a plastic container with a flourish. ‘These are for you.’
‘I can’t eat those.’ Grace feigns unhappiness. ‘You know once I start I’ll never stop.’
‘Exactly! Not that it ever shows. You’re the one who’s always telling me as long as it’s natural you can eat it. This is pure sugar, pure butter, and pure flour. I made them on a baking binge, but I can’t eat them.’
‘Uh-oh. What diet are you on now?’
‘No gluten, no sugar. Which thankfully doesn’t mean I don’t get to eat good stuff. I just don’t get to eat the good stuff I know how to cook, which is why I’m giving it to you.’
‘Not that I approve of any of your crazy diets, but why don’t you just cook things you’re able to eat?’
‘Thanks to Sandra, I don’t have to.’
‘Sandra?’
‘Sandra! You know! Blonde? Short hair? Married to the Greek guy?’
‘Of course.’
‘She’s started a business. Organic, all-natural sweet treats, sugar-free and gluten-free. She’s giving them to various people to sample to get feedback before she takes them to the stores.’
‘Lucky for you. And meanwhile, I get yummy cookies. These do look delicious.’ Grace pops the lid up,
Years later, when Ted was raging about something and Grace was confiding in Sybil, Sybil had shaken her head. ‘He’s just a big little boy in a bad mood,’ she said. ‘They’re all overgrown little boys who need a mother figure around to tell them to stop.’
It’s all right for you, thought Grace. Your husband isn’t an internationally known bestselling author used to having the world bend over backwards for him. And yet, she saw the way Sybil was with Ted – fun, funny, natural, never sycophantic in the slightest. If Ted ever started talking about books, or writing, Sybil would start yawning and tell him she wasn’t the slightest bit interested. Which she wasn’t. And Ted, instead of being greatly offended, thought Sybil a riot. He adored her. She was the only one of Grace’s friends that he truly had time for. She made him laugh and was guaranteed to put him in a good mood.
Sybil had a husband, Michael, who decided he didn’t really want to be married or, at least, not to Sybil, and had left her a few years ago. Sybil was fuelled by hatred and a vicious, spitting fury for a little while, but then she came to realize that actually Michael was probably not a very good husband and, much to her surprise, she was much happier by herself, until she met Fred, who does seem to be her perfect match.
Always an avid gardener, she now runs courses on organic gardening and is the one person Grace can always count on. She is warm, and safe, and Grace thinks of her as more sister than friend.
Even if she is, still, always late.
T he door bursts open as Sybil bustles in, clutching a bag that is so oversized it is more of a suitcase. She has to manoeuvre her way through the tables, apologizing constantly for knocking into people with her bag, until she finally reaches Grace, leaning in to kiss her cheek before setting her bag down with a sigh and sitting down.
‘What the hell is in your bag?’ Grace starts to laugh. ‘The kitchen sink?’
‘Almost.’ Sybil hoists the bag onto her lap and starts rummaging through. ‘Magazine on gardening, couple of tools that probably shouldn’t be in there, wallet . . . God, what’s this?’ She pulls out a hairbrush, frowning before putting it back. ‘Flip-flops! There they are! I was wondering what on earth I’d done with them. And . . .’ She draws out a plastic container with a flourish. ‘These are for you.’
‘I can’t eat those.’ Grace feigns unhappiness. ‘You know once I start I’ll never stop.’
‘Exactly! Not that it ever shows. You’re the one who’s always telling me as long as it’s natural you can eat it. This is pure sugar, pure butter, and pure flour. I made them on a baking binge, but I can’t eat them.’
‘Uh-oh. What diet are you on now?’
‘No gluten, no sugar. Which thankfully doesn’t mean I don’t get to eat good stuff. I just don’t get to eat the good stuff I know how to cook, which is why I’m giving it to you.’
‘Not that I approve of any of your crazy diets, but why don’t you just cook things you’re able to eat?’
‘Thanks to Sandra, I don’t have to.’
‘Sandra?’
‘Sandra! You know! Blonde? Short hair? Married to the Greek guy?’
‘Of course.’
‘She’s started a business. Organic, all-natural sweet treats, sugar-free and gluten-free. She’s giving them to various people to sample to get feedback before she takes them to the stores.’
‘Lucky for you. And meanwhile, I get yummy cookies. These do look delicious.’ Grace pops the lid up,
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