concentrate really hard on other things, all she could hear was the way Vaughn had drawled out, ‘This is not going any further,’ in the face of her most determinedly sluttish behaviour. Which had been moments after he’d taken her hand off his dick.
So skulking in the fashion cupboard and shunning human contact had become a valid lifestyle choice until the summons from her grandparents to come to Worthing for the weekend. It didn’t matter that it was sweltering, there’d be a mammoth cake-baking session on Saturday afternoon, roast chicken for Sunday lunch and a twenty-pound note slipped into Grace’s hand as she said her goodbyes so she could ‘buy herself something nice’. It was routine, safe, a little boring. But boring was OK sometimes.
So Grace was confounded to find herself leaning against the counter of the Worthing branch of Carphone Warehouse on a Saturday morning because her elderly parental signifiers had decided to dip a toe into the twenty-first century and buy his ’n’ hers mobile phones. She watched as her grandmother harangued the spotty Saturday boy with querulous enquiries as to the benefits of a monthly tariff versus pay as you go.
‘Gran,’ she sighed. ‘Get the pay as you go phones.’
Her grandmother frowned. ‘Pay as you go?’
‘You’re only going to use the phone for emergencies, and maybe in six months’ time, you might have figured out how to send a text message,’ Grace explained patiently. ‘I promise it will take a year to use up ten pounds’ worth of credit.’
There was no rushing her grandmother, who never drove at more than thirty miles per hour and could make a portion of peas last fifteen minutes. ‘I’m not going to let your impatience influence my decision-making, young lady,’ she said grandly.
‘I’m gasping for a cup of tea,’ Grace wailed, but her grandmother was now asking to see phones with larger keypads, ‘Because my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.’
Later - much, much later - in the first-floor café in Beales department store, with a pot of tea and a scone each, her grandmother went on the offensive.
‘You need to do something about your hair,’ she announced, à propos of nothing. ‘It doesn’t suit you at all. Really, Grace, I don’t know why you meddle with what nature gave you.’
‘Because nature gave me mousy brown hair,’ Grace said without much bite.
‘You’re very listless,’ her grandmother continued. ‘Are you in trouble with the bank again? You’re sticking to the monthly repayments?’
There were so many monthly repayments that Grace was meant to be sticking to. ‘Yeah, of course I am. All that stuff is in the past, Gran,’ Grace assured her blithely. She’d decided long ago that lying to her grandmother for the sake of a quiet life barely even registered on the wrong scale. ‘It’s just super-hot and I’m really busy at work.’
‘Too busy to write to your mother?’ If ever the CIA were doing research into new interrogation techniques, they should send some scientists to Worthing to work out how her gran did that thing with her eyes. ‘She said you never replied to the email she sent on your birthday. Did you get the photos of Kirsty? Sweet little thing, we thought.’
‘You’ve seen one toddler in a pink fairy outfit, you’ve seen ’em all,’ Grace muttered.
‘She’s your sister.’
‘ Half -sister,’ Grace reminded her, yanking out her knitting from her bag. ‘Gran, Mum left me. In fact, she didn’t just leave - she went to the other side of the world to get away from me. Then it took her - what? - twelve years to suddenly feel bad about it. Honestly, I’m glad she got married and that she’s having another bash at motherhood, but I don’t see why I have to get regular updates by email.’
Her grandmother’s attention was momentarily diverted by the skull and crossbones pattern on the scarf that Grace was
So skulking in the fashion cupboard and shunning human contact had become a valid lifestyle choice until the summons from her grandparents to come to Worthing for the weekend. It didn’t matter that it was sweltering, there’d be a mammoth cake-baking session on Saturday afternoon, roast chicken for Sunday lunch and a twenty-pound note slipped into Grace’s hand as she said her goodbyes so she could ‘buy herself something nice’. It was routine, safe, a little boring. But boring was OK sometimes.
So Grace was confounded to find herself leaning against the counter of the Worthing branch of Carphone Warehouse on a Saturday morning because her elderly parental signifiers had decided to dip a toe into the twenty-first century and buy his ’n’ hers mobile phones. She watched as her grandmother harangued the spotty Saturday boy with querulous enquiries as to the benefits of a monthly tariff versus pay as you go.
‘Gran,’ she sighed. ‘Get the pay as you go phones.’
Her grandmother frowned. ‘Pay as you go?’
‘You’re only going to use the phone for emergencies, and maybe in six months’ time, you might have figured out how to send a text message,’ Grace explained patiently. ‘I promise it will take a year to use up ten pounds’ worth of credit.’
There was no rushing her grandmother, who never drove at more than thirty miles per hour and could make a portion of peas last fifteen minutes. ‘I’m not going to let your impatience influence my decision-making, young lady,’ she said grandly.
‘I’m gasping for a cup of tea,’ Grace wailed, but her grandmother was now asking to see phones with larger keypads, ‘Because my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.’
Later - much, much later - in the first-floor café in Beales department store, with a pot of tea and a scone each, her grandmother went on the offensive.
‘You need to do something about your hair,’ she announced, à propos of nothing. ‘It doesn’t suit you at all. Really, Grace, I don’t know why you meddle with what nature gave you.’
‘Because nature gave me mousy brown hair,’ Grace said without much bite.
‘You’re very listless,’ her grandmother continued. ‘Are you in trouble with the bank again? You’re sticking to the monthly repayments?’
There were so many monthly repayments that Grace was meant to be sticking to. ‘Yeah, of course I am. All that stuff is in the past, Gran,’ Grace assured her blithely. She’d decided long ago that lying to her grandmother for the sake of a quiet life barely even registered on the wrong scale. ‘It’s just super-hot and I’m really busy at work.’
‘Too busy to write to your mother?’ If ever the CIA were doing research into new interrogation techniques, they should send some scientists to Worthing to work out how her gran did that thing with her eyes. ‘She said you never replied to the email she sent on your birthday. Did you get the photos of Kirsty? Sweet little thing, we thought.’
‘You’ve seen one toddler in a pink fairy outfit, you’ve seen ’em all,’ Grace muttered.
‘She’s your sister.’
‘ Half -sister,’ Grace reminded her, yanking out her knitting from her bag. ‘Gran, Mum left me. In fact, she didn’t just leave - she went to the other side of the world to get away from me. Then it took her - what? - twelve years to suddenly feel bad about it. Honestly, I’m glad she got married and that she’s having another bash at motherhood, but I don’t see why I have to get regular updates by email.’
Her grandmother’s attention was momentarily diverted by the skull and crossbones pattern on the scarf that Grace was
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