is, not to mention Alphawoman –
and
Mal is back on Friday, so I’ve got my own house to scrape back to hygienic bedrock. So much has been happening that the time has just flown by – and soon no more nights out at the pub until he goes off again!
Do most married women lead a double life like a secret agent? But, come to think of it, now the Wevills are reporting my movements he knows
exactly
what I am doing while he is away, so my cover is blown.
Yes, I admit it! I do have vestiges of a social life – I see my friends! I even – gasp! – go to the pub sometimes or hang out in the village teashop! Is there no end to this woman’s depravity?
Mal’s only going to be home until Monday, then he has to go off to Manchester for a few days, which means I will have to launder half his wardrobe over the first weekend we have together in six weeks.
I spent Valentine’s Day having a cleaning blitz, attacking it with all the savagery of one who had not received a card from her supposedly loving spouse, and though I did finally get a bouquet by Interflora in the late afternoon it might as well have had ‘Suddenly realised at the last minute!’ written on the gift tag. He knows I hate scentless, senseless flower-shop roses too: give me the blowsy, velvety real thing any time.
Nia got a Valentine’s card, which she said was just Rhodri being silly although I could tell she was pleased. His writing is big and loopy, like him, so pretty unmistakable.
I felt a bit fed up, to tell the truth, so I would have gone out except that Carrie was off somewhere for a romantic dinner with her aged lover, Rhodri was spending the evening sifting through the papers in the trunk in search of garden titbits to entice Gabe Weston with, and Nia had to go to a meeting – though she didn’t say what of.
So I ended up finishing the mosaic on the fireplace, which looks great, and watching old Buffy DVDs.
Oh,
bite me
, Angel!
Rhodri has gone off to London bearing the wedding gift Nia and I clubbed together to buy for the rich and happy couple: a beautifully carved Welsh lovespoon. Bet Zoe hadn’t got one of those on her list.
He was in such a froth of nerves worrying over his role at the wedding, plus what sort of impression Dottie was going to make on Gabriel Weston, that we were quite glad to finally wave him off.
‘I think he’s got a stone up his exhaust,’ Nia said critically, listening to the Spyder’s receding rattle.
‘And a loose marble or two,’ I agreed, ‘though not as many as Dottie. Do you think she
will
cock everything up tomorrow?’
‘Not if I can help it: I’m going to hang around and make sure she tells him all the interesting stuff, even if she can’t get the hang of who I am or what I’m doing there.’
‘She’ll probably think you’re a loyal retainer.’
‘She already thinks I’m a groom now I’ve started intercepting her at my workshop door and taking Rollover to his new loose box myself, and she seems to be warming to me. Rollover’s warming to me too, but he has very big feet and he’s not careful where he puts them.’
‘Well, save me any manure for my roses,’ I said. ‘Just say the word, and I’ll be up there with a shovel and a bag. Oh, and did I tell you I’ve got people coming to view Fairy Glen tomorrow? Two lots, at twelve and one. Gabriel Weston should have come and gone by then, shouldn’t he?’
‘If he manages to find St Ceridwen’s in the first place. Are you still plotting to hide in my studio dressed like Michelle of the French Resistance, just so you can get a sneaky look at him?’
‘I don’t think I can resist it – and if he doesn’t pick the garden then it will be the only chance I ever get to see him, won’t it? But it’ll be from afar, so you’ll still have to tell me if you think Rosie looks like him at all.’
‘She doesn’t look like his photograph, that’s for sure,’ Nia said. ‘Mind you, she doesn’t look even remotely like Tom either, apart
and
Mal is back on Friday, so I’ve got my own house to scrape back to hygienic bedrock. So much has been happening that the time has just flown by – and soon no more nights out at the pub until he goes off again!
Do most married women lead a double life like a secret agent? But, come to think of it, now the Wevills are reporting my movements he knows
exactly
what I am doing while he is away, so my cover is blown.
Yes, I admit it! I do have vestiges of a social life – I see my friends! I even – gasp! – go to the pub sometimes or hang out in the village teashop! Is there no end to this woman’s depravity?
Mal’s only going to be home until Monday, then he has to go off to Manchester for a few days, which means I will have to launder half his wardrobe over the first weekend we have together in six weeks.
I spent Valentine’s Day having a cleaning blitz, attacking it with all the savagery of one who had not received a card from her supposedly loving spouse, and though I did finally get a bouquet by Interflora in the late afternoon it might as well have had ‘Suddenly realised at the last minute!’ written on the gift tag. He knows I hate scentless, senseless flower-shop roses too: give me the blowsy, velvety real thing any time.
Nia got a Valentine’s card, which she said was just Rhodri being silly although I could tell she was pleased. His writing is big and loopy, like him, so pretty unmistakable.
I felt a bit fed up, to tell the truth, so I would have gone out except that Carrie was off somewhere for a romantic dinner with her aged lover, Rhodri was spending the evening sifting through the papers in the trunk in search of garden titbits to entice Gabe Weston with, and Nia had to go to a meeting – though she didn’t say what of.
So I ended up finishing the mosaic on the fireplace, which looks great, and watching old Buffy DVDs.
Oh,
bite me
, Angel!
Rhodri has gone off to London bearing the wedding gift Nia and I clubbed together to buy for the rich and happy couple: a beautifully carved Welsh lovespoon. Bet Zoe hadn’t got one of those on her list.
He was in such a froth of nerves worrying over his role at the wedding, plus what sort of impression Dottie was going to make on Gabriel Weston, that we were quite glad to finally wave him off.
‘I think he’s got a stone up his exhaust,’ Nia said critically, listening to the Spyder’s receding rattle.
‘And a loose marble or two,’ I agreed, ‘though not as many as Dottie. Do you think she
will
cock everything up tomorrow?’
‘Not if I can help it: I’m going to hang around and make sure she tells him all the interesting stuff, even if she can’t get the hang of who I am or what I’m doing there.’
‘She’ll probably think you’re a loyal retainer.’
‘She already thinks I’m a groom now I’ve started intercepting her at my workshop door and taking Rollover to his new loose box myself, and she seems to be warming to me. Rollover’s warming to me too, but he has very big feet and he’s not careful where he puts them.’
‘Well, save me any manure for my roses,’ I said. ‘Just say the word, and I’ll be up there with a shovel and a bag. Oh, and did I tell you I’ve got people coming to view Fairy Glen tomorrow? Two lots, at twelve and one. Gabriel Weston should have come and gone by then, shouldn’t he?’
‘If he manages to find St Ceridwen’s in the first place. Are you still plotting to hide in my studio dressed like Michelle of the French Resistance, just so you can get a sneaky look at him?’
‘I don’t think I can resist it – and if he doesn’t pick the garden then it will be the only chance I ever get to see him, won’t it? But it’ll be from afar, so you’ll still have to tell me if you think Rosie looks like him at all.’
‘She doesn’t look like his photograph, that’s for sure,’ Nia said. ‘Mind you, she doesn’t look even remotely like Tom either, apart
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