act called 36D. Nolly was herpublicist, agent and manager rolled into one, which meant she spent most of her days emailing bigwigs and trying to get Tanya more prestigious slots than the third Monday of every month at the Drum and Monkey in Tidsworth. Tanya was the only sister who hadn’t yet started whelping, and still lived with her parents. She worked her socks off as an instructor at a nearby riding school. Rod had a lot of time for her. She wasn’t as lazy as the rest; she understood that life wasn’t about finding the easiest way out all the time. Her lack of partner had led to rumours that she was a dyke, but Rod didn’t believe them. Tanya didn’t suffer fools gladly and she just hadn’t yet found a man worthy of her respect.
He scooped up Casey and took her into the kitchen to change her. He wasn’t squeamish, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her trotting round dirty. He knew perfectly well her father wouldn’t have ever changed her nappy. Dean was a sexist git through and through. All of his brothers were. It rankled Rod. If – no, when – he had kids, he’d be a hands-on father. He was quite happy to spend hours playing with his nieces and nephews; pushing them on the rope swing he’d put up, playing hide and seek, teaching them to ride bikes, holding their hands while they mastered roller skating.
It was ironic that his brothers and sisters had so many offspring between them and paid them so little attention. Instead of time, they lavished them with toys and games which were usually a five-minute wonder. Every few months or so one of his sisters orsisters-in-law would ‘catch’ for another one, and spend the next nine months moaning and groaning. Then, the minute it popped out, the baby became Nolly’s responsibility most of the time, while its mother sat at home watching daytime telly, smoking and ordering things out of catalogues.
In the meantime, months had gone by since Bella and Rod had started trying, and there was still no sign…
He didn’t want to dwell on it. He’d got a lot of work to do. He shouted up to his mum that he was there, dished out Panda Pops for the three kids, plonked them in front of the forty-two-inch screen television to watch Rocky IV on the DVD, and went out to the old shed he still used as his workshop.
As soon as he left school, where the only thing he had been good at was carpentry, Rod had started out fitting kitchens for one of the big DIY stores. The experience opened his eyes: he was appalled at how quickly he and the rest of the team slapped in a kitchen, how little care was taken both in the initial design and the installation, how corners were cut and things were botched. He was even more incensed by the differential between what the customer was charged and his pitiful hourly rate. But there was little he could do about it, so he kept his head down, and if he was more conscientious than his workmates, they were quite happy to let him get on with it. He ended up with the tricky jobs, because he could bebothered, and as a result there were fewer complaints. There was no sign of acknowledgement from the management, however, because the gaffer never gave him the credit. All Rod could gain was experience, hoping that he wouldn’t be ground down and eventually become as cynical and slipshod as the rest of them because, as they pointed out, no one gave you any thanks for doing a good job so you might as well do a bad one and save yourself the trouble.
One day they’d gone to fit out a utility room in a beautiful Tudor manor, and Rod had been horrified by the appalling job they had done – not that anyone would know on the surface, but Rod knew that in six months’ time all the shortcuts would reveal themselves; the drawers would jam, the work surface would split, the plumbing would come unravelled. All night it had eaten away at him, and the next morning he woke up determined.
The lady of the house had been just that – a Lady – and she had been
He scooped up Casey and took her into the kitchen to change her. He wasn’t squeamish, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her trotting round dirty. He knew perfectly well her father wouldn’t have ever changed her nappy. Dean was a sexist git through and through. All of his brothers were. It rankled Rod. If – no, when – he had kids, he’d be a hands-on father. He was quite happy to spend hours playing with his nieces and nephews; pushing them on the rope swing he’d put up, playing hide and seek, teaching them to ride bikes, holding their hands while they mastered roller skating.
It was ironic that his brothers and sisters had so many offspring between them and paid them so little attention. Instead of time, they lavished them with toys and games which were usually a five-minute wonder. Every few months or so one of his sisters orsisters-in-law would ‘catch’ for another one, and spend the next nine months moaning and groaning. Then, the minute it popped out, the baby became Nolly’s responsibility most of the time, while its mother sat at home watching daytime telly, smoking and ordering things out of catalogues.
In the meantime, months had gone by since Bella and Rod had started trying, and there was still no sign…
He didn’t want to dwell on it. He’d got a lot of work to do. He shouted up to his mum that he was there, dished out Panda Pops for the three kids, plonked them in front of the forty-two-inch screen television to watch Rocky IV on the DVD, and went out to the old shed he still used as his workshop.
As soon as he left school, where the only thing he had been good at was carpentry, Rod had started out fitting kitchens for one of the big DIY stores. The experience opened his eyes: he was appalled at how quickly he and the rest of the team slapped in a kitchen, how little care was taken both in the initial design and the installation, how corners were cut and things were botched. He was even more incensed by the differential between what the customer was charged and his pitiful hourly rate. But there was little he could do about it, so he kept his head down, and if he was more conscientious than his workmates, they were quite happy to let him get on with it. He ended up with the tricky jobs, because he could bebothered, and as a result there were fewer complaints. There was no sign of acknowledgement from the management, however, because the gaffer never gave him the credit. All Rod could gain was experience, hoping that he wouldn’t be ground down and eventually become as cynical and slipshod as the rest of them because, as they pointed out, no one gave you any thanks for doing a good job so you might as well do a bad one and save yourself the trouble.
One day they’d gone to fit out a utility room in a beautiful Tudor manor, and Rod had been horrified by the appalling job they had done – not that anyone would know on the surface, but Rod knew that in six months’ time all the shortcuts would reveal themselves; the drawers would jam, the work surface would split, the plumbing would come unravelled. All night it had eaten away at him, and the next morning he woke up determined.
The lady of the house had been just that – a Lady – and she had been
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