Page 57 of Six Steps to Happiness
Bea waved a hand, dismissive, but Ronnie could see she appreciated the sentiment.
“What did you expect?” Willow said. “We’re the three amigos.”
“The three musketeers,” Bea said.
Ronnie laughed. “More like the three stooges.”
Aside of any jokes, Ronnie knew exactly who they were. They were three generations of Jacobs women, supporting each other no matter what. As she watched her daughter and mother-in-law laugh along with her, Ronnie felt her smile fade a little. Whether she liked it or not, she knew Nick had a place amongst them, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind, not wanting to spoil the moment.
“So, having got your image sorted, Mum, and we know how well work is going…” Willow said.
Ronnie thought about the number of enquiries she’d had since the magazine article. It certainly seemed that she was going to be busy for the foreseeable future. She’d never liked the way journalists insisted on giving their readers an exact breakdown on the fashion choices of every woman they featured. To her, it often felt like a woman’s clothing was more important than anything she had to say or had achieved. On that occasion, however, it had worked to Ronnie’s advantage. Not only did the journo concerned describe the mother-of-the-bride clutch bag, Ronnie’s name as the designer was mentioned too.
“…we need to find you a man.”
Ronnie almost choked on her coffee. After PC Jack Shenton with his principles, and Nick and Mr Wright without, Ronnie needed no such thing. “I’m fine on my own, thank you very much.”
“I take it he still hasn’t been in touch then?” Bea asked.
Ronnie didn’t have to ask who the question related to. She shook her head. “And nor do I expect him to.”
Willow sighed. “I have to say I’m disappointed.”
“I don’t know why,” Ronnie said.
“I thought he’d come around, realise you’re not really a criminal, just a bit barmy sometimes.”
Ronnie chuckled. “Thank you for that.”
“Aren’t you the one who insists we’re not built for relationships?” Bea said to her granddaughter.
“Yes, I am,” Willow replied. “But we’re not talking about me here, are we?”
Ronnie chuckled again. “While we’re on the subject, how’s Mr Whateverhisnameis?”
“Who?” Willow asked.
Ronnie couldn’t believe her daughter had forgotten him already. “The chap with the dog?”
“Oh, him. He’s long gone.”
“So, who’s next in your firing line,” Bea asked. “Anyone we know?”
“I wish you’d meet Mr Right and settle down,” Ronnie said.
“Ooh, me too. And have lots of children. You don’t know how desperate I am to join the honourable Great-grandparent club.”
“Whoah!” Willow replied.
She might be laughing, Ronnie considered, but the mere thought clearly filled her daughter with dread.
“Not on the cards, I’m afraid.”
All at once, Bea put a hand on the table as if needing to steady herself.
“Are you okay?” Ronnie frowned, concerned.
“Grandmother?”
