Not Quite Nice by Celia Imrie

Author:Celia Imrie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2015-01-21T05:00:00+00:00

The Cookery Club meeting had dispersed pretty quickly after the arrival of Imogen.

Never had a roomful of people slurped up a bowl of soup and tossed down a glass of wine with such speed.

When the door slammed after Zoe, always the last to go, Brian slipped quietly into his room.

‘Who is that?’ hissed Imogen. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d taken a lover.’

Theresa made a sshh sound. ‘If you must know, he’s my lodger. His rent brings in a bit of money.’

‘Fine,’ said Imogen, watching the children tearing at bits of bread and cheese left on the table. ‘So where are our rooms?’

Theresa was at a loss.

‘I had no idea you were coming, Imogen, or I’d have got something sorted.’

‘I phoned ahead from Gatwick. You’ve had all evening. If you weren’t so busy carousing with your friends.’

Theresa looked at the red flashing light on the answering machine. Well, there was that query answered. The message must have been from Imogen.

‘For goodness’ sake, you’re always inviting me here, Mother. It’s Easter. Last time we spoke you said “Come at Easter”. So here we are!’

‘But I . . .’

Theresa didn’t know how to tell Imogen that, apart from Brian’s room, there was only her bedroom and it had only one bed. If she’d had warning at least she could have got some little put-me-ups for the kids.

‘Look, Imogen, I’ll phone up to the hotel just above me. They might have a room.’

‘A hotel? After the day we’ve just had?’ Imogen shook her head as though Theresa was an idiot. ‘If anyone’s going to a hotel I’m afraid it will have to be you. Look at the children. They’re exhausted.’

Theresa looked down at the three little pairs of eyes which looked anything but tired, rather, they appeared fired with exhilaration.

‘Can we have an ice cream?’ asked Lola.

‘I want to go swimming in the sea,’ said Chloe. ‘I’ve got my certificates.’

‘I’ve got sessisicakes as well.’

‘No you haven’t,’ Chloe sighed. ‘You have to be over nine and pass a test.’

‘Well, I’m hungry.’ Cressida started to cry. ‘I want Verdi cakes.’

‘Do you have fruit?’ Imogen enquired. ‘Just something to take the edge off. And where are the bedrooms?’

Theresa knew that her daughter wasn’t being exactly straight with her. Theresa might do things on a whim, but Imogen had always been one for diaries and long-ranging appointments. She never would just arrive at the airport hoping for a flight. Something was going on.

‘Aren’t you going to explain anything to me?’ asked Theresa, buttering pieces of baguette and handing them to the girls. ‘What on earth has happened?’

‘Nothing.’ Imogen did not look her in the eye.

‘You suddenly arrive on my doorstep with the children at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night? It makes no sense.’

‘We’ll have all the time to talk in the morning,’ said Imogen, taking off the children’s coats. ‘Now we really must get some sleep.’

Feeling more suspicious than ever, Theresa ushered them into the bedroom. Only a few hours ago it had seemed so charming, but now looked dingy, cramped and claustrophobic.

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