Olivias Luck by Catherine Alliott

Author:Catherine Alliott [Alliott, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Humorous Stories, Fiction, General, Life Change Events, Mothers and Daughters, Separated People, Romance
ISBN: 9780747257875
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2000-11-03T00:00:00+00:00

17

When I finally ran out of the house at half-past seven that evening, I was hot, flustered, out of control, and not at all in the cultured, sophisticated frame of mind I’d intended. For a start, there had been huge hassles over the baby-sitting. When I’d popped into the kitchen to see the boys and ask Spiro, seeing as it was his turn, I’d been met with such flushed faces and a horrified silence, I was taken aback.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Finally Spiro found his tongue. “Oh, Meesis McFarllen, I feel so badly, I fall on your breast with shame. I theenk you not know, but last night, I seen your shreddies, I seen your jugs jacket, I see – ”

“Hang on, seen what? Jugs what? Spiro, what on earth do you mean?”

“I think what Spiro means,” said Mac, stepping in smoothly, “is that we thought we might go out for a curry tonight. Didn’t we, boys?”

They nodded to a man. Beaming with relief until I thought their faces would split in half.

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Alf happily. “A curry. Need to get out, see, have a bit of a vindaloo.” He rubbed his stomach and grinned even wider. I feared for my lavatory pans.

“Oh! Oh, well, that’s a bit of a blow.” I frowned. God, it was a blow, actually. Suddenly I saw my sophisticated evening disintegrating. Where the hell was I going to get a baby-sitter at such short notice?

“Perhaps I could ask Nanette,” I wondered aloud. “I think she might be on her own this week.”

“And if she can’t,” put in Lance quietly, “I’ll do it. I’m not that desperate for a curry.”

“Oh, Lance, that’s awfully kind,” I beamed. “You’re an angel. I tell you what, I’ll keep you in reserve.”

“You do that,” he muttered with ill-concealed sarcasm. I glanced at him, startled. Now what the hell did he have to be peeved about? His face betrayed nothing, though, so I shrugged. Oh well, I couldn’t cope with sulky builders right now. I had bigger fish to fry.

I hastened over to see Nanette, who was indeed Rogerless, and who declared that she’d be delighted. She and Claudia liked nothing more than a girly nail-varnish-and-highlights chat, and they’d already had a couple of cosy evenings together, painting toes, putting face packs on and wading through Hello! Magazines searching for Posh and Becks, something Claudia complained she didn’t get enough of from me.

“Where are you going, anyway?” called Nanette, hanging out of an upstairs window which she’d pushed open when she’d heard the doorbell. She was jangling armfuls of bangles and clutching a duster in her nails.

“Sebastian’s,” I muttered, glancing nervously down the street.

“Sebastian’s!” she shrieked. “I don’t believe it!”

“Nanette, you were totally wrong about him,” I hissed, “he’s not a nutter, or a teacher, he’s a world-famous musician! A composer for heaven’s sake – he’s Sebastian Faulkner!”

She frowned. Shook her head. “Never heard of him. Who?”

“Oh, never mind. Let’s not discuss it at the top of our voices in the street.

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