Page 47 of Paper Roses

“You don’t call, you don’t write.”

“You spout more fiction than Enid Blyton. I popped in for dinner three weeks ago. You must remember that special occasion, because you made me put a bookcase together and then mend the stair rail.”

“And the next minute I look around and you’re bloody married.”

“Which brings me to the question of how you knew how to find us?” Jed says silkily.

“Oh, that nice red-haired young man at your office gave me the address.”

“Well, how lovely of Rafferty. Do remind me to give him a raise.”

Her eyes narrow. “So, are there any more secrets about our family that I’ll be enlightened on by a complete stranger in Asda?”

Jed sighs. “Not a stranger. She was your bridesmaid.”

“Well?”

“No, of course not. Jesus Christ, what was that for?” He yelps as she slaps his arm again.

“That was congratulations.”

“Have you completely abandoned all social conventions? Why did Artie get a hug, and I didn’t?”

“Because something about this is undoubtedly your fault. I’m being proactive.”

I laugh and she shoots me a merry look. “Well, I’ll expect you both round this evening.”

Jed’s eyes widen. “Pardon?”

“For the family party.”

“Oh no,” he starts.

She folds her arms. “The way I see it, Jed, you have two choices. Are you going to turn up at our house and introduce your new husband to your brother and his family and incidentally back me up on the fact that I told Sally I knew all about your marriage and have been organising this party for ages?”

“So, I’m supporting you in your web of lies?”

“Or,” she talks over him with the obvious ease of practise, “are you going to make me confess to my friend that my child—the boy I carried inside me for nine months and who I’ve loved and protected all these years—is actually an ungrateful cretin?”

I can’t help my snort of laughter.

Jed sighs. “We’ll be there for the party which you have been organising for the last decade.”

She shakes her head. “A little less sarcasm and more family spirit might improve the quality of your life.” She kisses me again. “See you in a bit, Artie. Lovely to meet you.” She shakes her head. “Such a pretty boy. In a bit then, Jed,” she says, slapping his arm again.

“Bloody hell, I’ll have repetitive strain injury if you keep doing that.”

“If you didn’t develop it in that arm during your teenage years, I’d say you’re safe now.”

“Ma,” Jed squarks and I start to laugh.

“Well, what do you expect?” She winks at me. “Always in his room with the curtains drawn, telling me he liked a dim view of the world, and my hand cream being used up at the rate of knots. Well, I’ll be off. See you later.”

Jed stirs. “Do you want me to give you a lift home?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. I’ve got a few people to see first.”

“Oh god,” Jed mutters. “Not the Walker grapevine.”

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