Page 46 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘I’ve been told I’ll bepersona non grataif I don’tshow up to this thing,’ she mutters. ‘When did Lois get to be such a bossymadam?’
I laugh. ‘I should have thought you’d be used to it by now.’
She snorts and heads for the stairs, bumping into Bertie ashe runs out of his own bedroom, yelling that he’s starving and when is lunch?
‘One o’clock, apparently.’ She ruffles his hair and hesquirms away. ‘Far too early in the day to think about food. And I’m takingbets on whether Lois can actually cook a three-course meal. But at leastthere’s drinks on the menu.’ She follows Bertie down the stairs, calling, ‘Didsomeone mention gin?’
When I join them round the kitchen table, I smile at Roryand remark that this is a first for our family. ‘A proper Sunday lunch. Welldone, Lois.’
Poor Lois is red in the face with bending to the oven andflapping nervously about getting everything ready at the same time. So we endup taking our drinks into the kitchen to keep her company.
Irene is on the phone – it sounds as if she’s arranging tomeet someone – but she graciously ends the call when Lois announces that thestarters are served and places an elaborate prawn cocktail in front ofeveryone.
‘Crikey, this looks like proper food,’ remarks Irene,sounding amazed. ‘The Marie-Rose sauce will be out of a bottle, though, is it?’
‘No. Actually, I made it,’ snaps Lois, hiding her annoyancebehind a smile.
‘Wow.’ Irene leans towards Rory. ‘D’you know, my daughteronce tried to cook pasta in the toaster.’
‘I was five, Mum.’
‘Were you? I thought it was last month.’ Irene laughs rathertoo loudly at her own joke, which makes me wonder if that triple gin and limeshe’s drinking really is the first of the day...
‘Well, this is lovely. I’m thoroughly enjoying it.’ Roryraises his glass and smiles warmly at Lois. ‘To the most gorgeous cook I’veever met.’
‘The mostdisorganised,’ mutters Lois, digging intoher prawns, but I can tell she’s pleased.
Everyone seems to be enjoying their starter. Even Bertie,after prodding the prawns suspiciously, manages to eat most of it. When Loisgets up to see to the roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, Irene takes a call onher mobile, so I’m left smiling awkwardly at Rory. And when I turn to Bertieand ask him what he’s been up to at school this week, he just shrugs and says,‘Nothing.’ So that’s an end tothatconversation.
Irene is still murmuring on the phone, turning slightly awayfrom the table, suggesting it’s a private conversation, which seems incrediblyrude, especially as we have company.
At last, Lois delivers our main course. But Irene is stillchatting on the phone and doesn’t seem to have noticed. Lois keeps castingannoyed looks in her direction – I’m becoming quite irritated myself – butIrene seems blissfully unaware that the food Lois has prepared so carefully isnow getting cold, congealing on her plate.
Worse, she appears to be chatting to one of her men friends,while Bertie’s sitting there listening just a few feet away.
‘Swing it around, Baby,’ she murmurs huskily into thesilence. ‘That’s it. Goood. That’s really good.’
Alarmed, I swivel my eyes at Rory but he’s calmly cutting apiece of his roast beef and appears not to have heard.
‘Now... grab the end and squeeze it tight.That’s it, Baby. Squeeeeeze.’
I catch Lois’s eye. Looking horrified, she mouths, ‘What?’
Irene gives a rich, throaty chuckle. ‘Now, get it in there.That’s it, that’s it.’ She laughs. ‘You know me. I like it very firm.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It would be bad enough,withoutBertiesitting right here at the table.
More suggestive giggles from Irene’s corner of the table. ‘IreallywishI was there with you, bouncing up and down on it...’
I scrape back my chair. ‘Right. That’s enough, Irene. Giveme that phone.’ I hold out my hand and she looks at me in astonishment. ‘Comeon. There’s a child at the table, or had you forgotten? Oh, silly me. Of courseyou had!’
In the stunned silence, Irene holds the phone away from herear, gazing at me in bemusement. ‘What on earth are you talking about, Clara?’
‘You know exactly what I mean. It’s disgusting,’ I hiss,glancing at Bertie (who thankfully has sneaked his phone to the table and isnow playing a game on it, totally unaware of what’s going on).
‘Clara, love, you’ve gotentirelythe wrong end ofthe stick.’ She takes a big gulp of her gin and grins at me.
I snort. ‘Pun intended, presumably.’
