Page 32 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘Mum’s taking her to the cinema. Shame. I’d have liked herto come... get used to mixing socially, you know?’
I nod. ‘I think she’s missing her best friend.’
‘Come to think of it, she has become a lot more solitarysince Amy left.’
‘She told me she likes dancing, so I suggested I take her toa dance class? I hope that wasn’t cheeky of me, without checking with you first?’
‘No, of course not. She likes you, Clara. She told me. Ithink dance classes would be great for her.’
‘She won’t go, though. Flatly refused.’
‘That’s a shame. Maybe I’ll have a word.’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t put any pressure on her. That’s theworst thing you could do.’ I flick a sheepish glance at him. ‘Sorry. I haven’teven got a little sister and I’m advising you on how to help yours!’
‘Help away.’ He holds out his arms. ‘Please. I feel prettyuseless, to be honest. I really want to support her but all I seem to do is pushher further away.’
I feel his frustration. ‘Dance really helped me to expressall the emotions that were tearing me up inside after Mum died. It’s such greattherapy. You can leave it all on the floor, so to speak.’ I smile encouragingly.‘Why not bring Elsie over to Gran’s again some time and I’ll see if I canpersuade her to at least go andwatcha dance class.’
He nods. ‘Okay. I will. Thanks, Clara. I’d really appreciatethat. And I’ll be over to cut your lawns again next week.’
‘Honestly, you’ve been great, mowing the lawns back at oursas well as Gran’s. But you really don’t need to.’
‘Hey, if you’re helping Elsie, I’m helping you. No arguments,’he says firmly. ‘See you tomorrow night. I’ll bring the burger buns as well.’ Andwith a cheery wink, he’s gone.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
We arrive back home and as we’re getting out of thecar and I’m unloading baking equipment from the boot, Irene emerges from thehouse, wineglass in hand.
‘Where’s this video, then?’ she demands, walking a littleunsteadily over the grass. ‘Clara? I want to see Bertie helping you with thebaking.’
‘Okay.’ I glance at her warily as I swoop past, carrying onebox balanced on top of another. She’s still in the tight red polka dot dressshe wore for her lunch date, although she’s kicked off her shoes and when I goback outside, I find her dancing gaily around the front lawn, holding onto Bertie’shand and draining her glass.
My heart sinks as I catch sight of Pru Collinson over theroad, looking out of her window and getting a good old eyeful of Irene’s antics.Hurrying over, I manage to herd them inside. ‘Bertie, let’s go in and you can showyour mum how good you were at juggling.’
‘Yes!’ shouts Bertie. ‘Come on, Mum.’
At the door, I glance back, and I’m relieved to find that MrsCollinson is no longer standing at her window.
As I unpack the boxes in the kitchen, I can hear Bertiechattering away excitedly in the living room, clearly over the moon to have hismum’s attention. ‘I only dropped the cupcakes one time, Mum. You should haveseen me. Clara said I learned really fast. I could teach you how to juggle ifyou like? Do you want to taste the cakes we made?’
I pause, straining to hear Irene’s reaction to Bertie’seager chat.
Please don’t make a wisecrack about vegetables having noplace in cake...
But to my relief, all I hear is cheering and clapping. Andwhen I go through, Bertie is juggling, flushed with concentration, looking delightedas his mum applauds his efforts.
‘Hey, fabulous show, Bertie Wooster.’ Lois, who’s beenhelping me in the kitchen for once, walks in with a smile and flops onto thesofa next to Irene. ‘You actually saved the day when Clara cocked up andspilled sugar all over the place. Everyone thought you were great, Bertie.’
Irene, who’s lying back on the sofa, laughs. ‘Clara cockedup? Three out of ten for effort, Charlie Dimmock.’
I stare at her, confused, as Bertie concentrates hard oncatching cupcakes.
Charlie Dimmock?
Irene grins. ‘Lois told me yesterday about your gardeningefforts over at Paula’s and I thought she was joking at first. I mean, you’rethe woman who just has tolookat a plant and it keels over and dies.’
I glance at Lois and she shrugs. ‘A little birdie told me.’She grins. ‘Never mind, Charlie Dimmock. Or should I say CharlieDimwit.’
