Still Thinking Of You Part 11

Kate was not sure h.e.l.l was hot at all. She imagined it would be icy cold. She'd skied every year since she was an undergraduate, so she was competent at the sport. But she simply didn't get it. What was all the fuss about? You went up a mountain, then you came down again. Sometimes you fell, sometimes you didn't. Either way the whole process had to be repeated. To what end? Kate didn't get the thrill that everyone talked about; it was as elusive as multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms. Besides, physically Kate was no longer ideal for this sport. She was four stones heavier than when she'd first hauled herself up a mountain, when she was eighteen. She'd felt every ounce of those four stones this morning. Kate had been grateful for the three years when she had been pregnant and was able to sit by the fire, with hot chocolates and a legitimate excuse.

Kate sighed and ordered a second hot chocolate. Her already weak willpower definitely suffered in the cold. She was ravenous again, even though she'd had that huge pizza at lunch time. She looked longingly at the menu. They'd be having dinner in a couple of hours; surely she could wait until then. It would be a four-course dinner. But, on the other hand, if she had a crepe now it would take the edge off her appet.i.te and she could eat a dainty portion more akin to Tash's and Jayne's. Kate ordered a banana, chocolate, nut and cream crepe.

This morning someone had suggested that they might go bowling or to the cinema tonight. Kate hoped that they'd choose the cinema over bowling, and a romance or a comedy over art-house. But she knew that if there was a consensus in favour of something arty and bleak, she wouldn't voice her objections. Kate was not a stranger to silently partic.i.p.ating in things that she didn't really enjoy. For example, she found herself on the motorway travelling to Devon every weekend throughout the summer, and had done for five years now. Kate loved Devon, but the Lewis-Ponsonbys went there for sailing, and Kate hated sailing. She wasn't a very good swimmer and more than a little bit nervous of boats. She'd never said so. She would seem such a damp squib. They'd spent a fortune on buying the boat, employing a crew, hiring a summer house, getting lessons for the children. It would be madness to admit that she didn't enjoy the sport. Besides which, they'd made some great friends at the sailing club. Well, some fun acquaintances at least.

She felt the same about cla.s.sical music and opera. At least once a month, Ted would blow over 500 on tickets for Glyndebourne or Kenwood, or a box at Covent Garden. She did like the champagne during the interval, and it was nice taking her friends along, but frankly she was much more of a musical type of girl at heart. She had Phantom of the Opera, Cats, Chicago and Les Miserables on DVD. She watched them by herself when Aurora was taking a nap and there was no one else in the house. She had Jesus Christ Superstar on CD in the car, and she knew every word. She'd play it as she went to pick up the children from ballet, or school, or horse riding. Once the children were in the car, the preferred form of entertainment was Harry Potter on tape, and she enjoyed that, too. It just wasn't very vogue to admit to a pa.s.sion for musicals, was it? People had pa.s.sion for opera and mere affection for Julie Andrews belting out 'My Favourite Things' in The Sound of Music.

Kate wondered if Natasha might like musicals or whether she was too trendy. She had a hope that at least Natasha wouldn't mind that Kate liked them. As much as Kate adored Mia, she would never dare admit her love for all things Andrew Lloyd Webber to her. She could imagine the tongue lashing. Kate sighed and returned to her hot chocolate, comforting herself with the thought that either bowling or the cinema was preferable to a club.

Jayne stomped into the bar. It was convenient to pretend that she was trying to budge snow off her boots, when in fact she was simply furious. She failed to notice the rustic charm of the bar, and her first thought was, 'G.o.d, what c.r.a.p tunes they're playing.' f.u.c.king Meatloaf, going on about wanting some woman and needing her, but not going the whole hog and loving her. Two out of three was lousy in Jayne's opinion. What a pointless, senseless and, worst of all, poignant lyric. It could be her personal theme tune. Where were the Coldplay tracks? And Air and Zero 7?

Jayne marched up to the bar a woman serving, typical, not even a tasty barman to flirt with and ordered a gla.s.s of red wine. The bartender's eyes involuntarily and reproachfully flicked towards the clock on the wall. It was 5.30 p.m. Jayne glowered. She knew that the bartender would a.s.sume that she, like many British tourists, was planning on drinking constantly from now until the early hours of tomorrow morning. Jayne picked up her gla.s.s, threw down a couple of euros and turned to scope the bar, as was her habit. She was looking for someone to flirt with. Someone who would reaffirm her attractiveness and buy her drinks. Someone who wouldn't wipe away her kisses. The two guys sitting at the bar had smiled at her the instant she'd walked into the bar. Dream on, guys. Not up to scratch.

b.u.g.g.e.r, that was Kate. Jayne did not fancy making polite conversation with her dull-as-ditchwater sister-in-law. In fact, she'd rather self-administer a large suppository. Had Kate spotted Jayne? It appeared not. Kate was drowning in hot chocolate. Jayne acted quickly and settled into another dark corner, one that was out of Kate's view.

He had snubbed her! Wiped her kiss away. Denied her even! Jayne hadn't even made it into his stories. Why not? Why not? Rich had told Tash about Mia, and Mia had fat thighs. Why didn't he talk about Jayne? Was she so insignificant? They'd once had s.e.x in the toilets of a bar. She thought that alone should have guaranteed her a degree of notoriety. f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Why was he wasting his time with Natasha?

It was such a waste. Such a terrible, awful mistake. She couldn't let it happen. Every single bone in her body screamed in revolt at the idea. Every blood vessel was engorged with horror and anger. So many tragedies happened in this world. You had only to switch on the news to see disaster and cruel mishap. Just the other day she'd read this awful story in the Metro about some guy making a spur-of-the-moment decision to hire a private plane to get him up to Scotland for an important business meeting. The newspaper reported that he'd never expressed an interest in small planes to any of his friends. Then the plane he hired fell out of the sky. Killing him and the pilot. A needless disaster, resulting from a hurried, ill-considered decision. Jayne would not let Rich plummet to his death by choosing the wrong mode of transport. She would stop this disaster. There were things that were supposed to happen and things that weren't, and this wasn't. He belonged with her.

Jayne had spent an hour in her room examining the contents of a metal box, slightly bigger than a shoe box. She kept it locked, and wore the key on a silver chain around her neck.

Many girls and women kept similar memento boxes. There might even be boys who did the same thing, but it seemed unlikely. These boxes housed tickets from particular cinema visits, where their date had been especially solicitous, invites to weddings, old diaries, even the occasional pressed flowers. It wasn't just the Victorians that had a penchant for the sentimental. Jayne's box housed fourteen old diaries, dating back from her sixteenth birthday, until last year. The diaries were all different, reflecting the tastes of a gauche teenage girl who had grown into a sophisticated woman; pink plastic covers were swapped for deep-brown buckskin. There were a handful of photos and numerous tube tickets, some as old as ten years. Jayne picked them up and carefully counted them. There were sixty-six she knew that before she counted them. There were a couple of beer mats, three champagne corks and a dog-eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye. There was a torn envelope, addressed to her, and on the back, in a different handwriting, someone had written 'Later X'. There was another sc.r.a.p of paper on which the word 'plumber' and a telephone number were written. There was a small cardboard box inside which lay what looked suspiciously like toenail cuttings, curled and yellow, and two or three pubic hairs, curled and brown.

She took this box with her wherever she went. Even on holidays, despite the fact that it took up so much s.p.a.ce in her suitcase and seriously affected what else she could pack. If Jayne's flat were ever to go up in flames, and she was only able to save one thing, she'd let her hamster burn and save the box.

Looking through her treasure box always cheered her up. Here was evidence of their relationship. The diaries detailed how Rich had taken Jayne's virginity on her sixteenth birthday and, while they hadn't actually met for the next five years, hardly a day went by when his name didn't appear in the diaries. None of the boys in her sixth form or at university could even come close. They were silly, inexperienced and, the biggest sin of all as far as the teenage Jayne had been concerned spotty. Most of them had those awful yellow spots that oozed or spurted gooey pus. Jayne couldn't imagine giving herself to those bags of hormones. Rich was, by contrast, beautiful. He was tall and lean and rugged. The handful of photos proved that. He looked surprised in all the shots. He didn't really like having his photo taken, and he'd always mess about covering his face with his hands or a magazine. As though she was a tabloid photographer and had caught him, a reluctant star. The only photo he looked peaceful in was the one that she had taken of him sleeping.

It was Rich who had inspired Jayne to become a management consultant. Not that he actually recommended the career path to her, but he was very helpful when she left university and expressed an interest in becoming a consultant. He'd met her for coffee and laughed about the lousy hours and the lovely pay packets. It had been the obvious move for Jayne to apply to Peterson Windlooper because Rich seemed so inspired working there.

Their relationship had begun in earnest pretty soon after that, as soon as Jayne moved to London from college. The sixty-six tube tickets were gathered over the next nine years, two tickets for every time Jayne made the journey to and from Rich's flat in Islington.

Jayne had examined the sc.r.a.ps of paper that Rich had written on, the note he'd left for her, 'Later X', and the telephone number of the plumber that she'd stolen from his flat. She'd fingered the book that he'd recommended that she read, and the corks saved from the bottles of champagne that she'd bought and they'd enjoyed together.

A fourteen-year relationship.

Clearly he'd confessed to dozens of scenarios to Tash, but not hers. Jayne couldn't understand it. Was he so ashamed of her?

Jayne reflected on this for a moment. Maybe there was another reason that Rich had never mentioned her to Tash, nothing to do with shame, indifference or neglect. Maybe he was protecting the sanct.i.ty of their relationship.

Jayne instantly felt cheered. Yes, that seemed possible.

That seemed probable.

The relationship between Rich and Jayne was so precious to him that he'd refused to spill out the details to Tash just for her t.i.tillation. It was perfectly possible that Rich was being a gentleman. Because he cared.

He cared for her.

Jayne thought she might order some champagne right now. She went to the bar and bought a bottle, ignoring the odd look that the bargirl insisted on bestowing.

He hadn't pulled away from her kiss straight away, had he?

In fact, it sort of felt as though he'd kissed her back, or at least wanted to. Jayne took a sip of champagne, then another. It was obvious. Rich had found himself drawn into this marriage thing, but he wasn't serious about it. Not really.

Jayne took a ma.s.sive gulp of champagne and half emptied her gla.s.s. The crazy bubbles danced on her tongue, demanding she lose her senses, which, after all, she was already keen to fling away.

If he was serious about marrying Tash, he would never have agreed to Jayne coming along on holiday. Clearly he wanted Tash to find out about them and to call off the wedding, so that he and Jayne could get back together.

Of course. It was crystal. Jayne took another ma.s.sive swig, and this time she hardly noticed the sharp, almost bitter taste as she began to float, happily intoxicated. Jayne had always found that champagne took away the world's problems; luckily her lifestyle scattered with expense accounts and devoted suitors was such that she could drink lots of it without either appearing like a lush or breaking the bank.

And he hadn't yet called off the wedding himself because...?

Because he was too kind-hearted. Yes, that was it! He didn't want to hurt Tash. And, fair enough, Tash was a sufficiently nice girl. Jayne could admit this much now she was coc.o.o.ned in the happiness that is champagne. Not a very special girl. Not good enough for Rich. But he was so kind that he didn't like to hurt anyone.

Jayne had already forgotten how Rich had hurt her for many, many years by denying and ignoring her, by breaking dates and failing to call. The tears that had threatened to overwhelm her as she walked into the bar receded. How could he not want her? Every man she'd ever met wanted her, and she wasn't even half decent to most of those. She was very sweet to Rich. Besides, she was clever and pretty, she supported his football team, played the same sports as him, read the same books, laughed at his lousy jokes.

Jayne was blind with pa.s.sion, and so had never seen the disinterest in Rich's face as he flipped her over in the sack, preferring to take her from behind rather than risk acknowledging any intensity of emotion love or need that her face may have inadvertently betrayed. Jayne was blind to his rejections. She had always excused the fact that he would never meet up with her until after the pubs kicked out. She had never noticed that he'd never once said anything that remotely hinted towards a commitment or a future. He'd never said anything that would indicate that they were in a relationship. She never acknowledged that they saw each other on average once every four months. The facts that he'd stopped sleeping with her once he met Tash and that he'd proposed to Tash, that he openly, frequently and happily declared his love for Tash all seemed irrelevant to Jayne.

She wanted him so much. More than she'd ever wanted a puppy or a Raleigh bike. More than she'd ever wanted anything else in her life. And for longer than she'd ever wanted anything else.

Jayne always got what she wanted.

The university place she wanted. The exam results she wanted. The job she wanted. The figure she wanted. The pay rise she wanted. She even got the shoes she wanted that just matched so perfectly with her handbag bought for that very special occasion. Not getting what she wanted was not an option! Rich had made a terrible error of judgement, an error she could correct, which he needed her to correct. He needed her help. She was the girl for him, not Natasha. She would stop this wedding, she had to.

But how?

At that moment Jase walked into the bar. Like Jayne, he had immediately scoped the room to hunt out any potential totty. After all, he was on holiday and scoring was de rigueur. He was delighted to spot Jayne huddled in the corner with no company other than a bottle of champagne. He grinned to himself that girl had a serious sense of style.

'Mind if I join you?' he asked. He was already holding a champagne flute.

Jayne looked startled, but immediately recovered her aplomb and then looked delighted. 'Of course not, it would be lovely.'

'Are you celebrating?' asked Jase, nodding towards the champagne bottle.

'I am now,' smiled Jayne, patting the s.p.a.ce on the bench next to her. As she leant over to fill Jason's gla.s.s, she took care to let her breast brush against his arm. She was cold and her nipples were standing at attention. Jayne noticed Jase blush and was pleased. There was no way he'd ever brush off her kisses.

27. Another Night in Paradise.

'Wow, Mia, you look amazing,' said Kate, looking up from her magazine.

Kate, Tash and Jayne were settled on the sofas in front of the open fire in the hotel foyer. The scene was cosy. Kate was reading a magazine and enjoying a G & T. Jayne was dozing, stretched out on one of the sofas. Her magazine lay discarded and open across her chest. An empty gla.s.s of what had been red wine sat on the table. After finishing the bottle of champagne with Jason she'd decided it was best to carry on drinking, rather than stop and risk the onset of a hangover. She was resting her head on Tash's lap. Tash did not seem freaked by this, although Mia would have been horrified if Jayne, or any woman for that matter, had curled up with her so intimately. Tash was also reading a magazine, and she held it high and to one side so as not to disturb the sleepy Jayne. Despite their uber-trendy gear, they put Mia in mind of Roman empresses, lolling on perfumed beds waiting for the return of their conquering heroes.

Kate and Mia sat a little distance from Tash and Jayne, excusing themselves by explaining that they wanted to chat and did not want to disturb Jayne. Kate was worried that Mia wasn't happy about Jayne joining the party. She couldn't quite understand why it would upset Mia as much as it clearly did, but she was sorry to have caused her best friend any disquiet. She did her utmost to make amends through flattery.

'Yes, those jeans really suit you, and your skin looks radiant. It must be all the fresh air.'

'Oh, thanks,' said Mia. She had made an effort. She'd spent the afternoon in the hotel's spa. She'd had a manicure and pedicure, and spent an hour in the Jacuzzi. In her room she'd tried on several outfits, only to discover just how hard it was to look fabulously s.e.xy and keep warm at the same time. She didn't quite know how Jayne and Tash pulled it off, but she'd rather rip out her own eyeb.a.l.l.s than ask either of them for sartorial advice. After considerable effort and numerous combinations, Mia had settled on a pair of Earl jeans and a black, polo-neck cashmere jumper. The jeans flattered her bottom and thighs, and the jumper clung to her full, round b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Unusually for Mia, she'd taken the time to apply full make-up, including a red slash of lipstick on her plump lips. The overall effect was good. Only she knew that she was wearing Marks and Spencer minimizing knickers and a thermal vest. She wasn't too worried about her underwear, as she didn't really believe that they would make their debut tonight.

Her plan tonight was to keep in the running, not to get knocked out in the early heats, so to speak. And while she thought that the proposition of competing with Jayne for Scaley Jase's affections was a little demeaning, she comforted herself with the fact that she wasn't really competing for a man's affections or even his attention, just a sperm donation. She told herself that this was scientific, practical, nothing to do with emotions. Still, she was grateful for Kate's compliment. Although she was determined not to acknowledge the fact, she was as nervous as h.e.l.l.

'Goodness, I feel so drab in comparison to you three,' added Kate.

Mia felt the marvellous effect of the compliment vanish, believing that it wasn't so much rooted in a genuine respect for Mia's own carefully chosen ensemble as in Kate's deep-seated lack of confidence. Good manners now demanded that Mia rea.s.sure Kate. She ought to say that Kate's new haircut was flattering. Which, indeed, it was. Or she could say that her shoes were fantastic it was rare to see Kate in heels. Mia stayed silent. And grumpy.

Kate wondered if Mia had noticed her new haircut, perhaps it wasn't radical enough. What a shame if it wasn't noticeable. It had cost nearly 400 for the cut and colour, and Kate had had to wait several months on a list to get an appointment with the award-winning stylist who, rumour had it, also cut Madonna's hair. She fingered the ends around the nape of her neck and sighed. In truth, she'd suspected that the cut was a little ordinary, but felt that for all the hype around the stylist and all that cash she'd paid, she had to be mistaken.

'How are you getting on with the boarding?' asked Kate.

'I'm not,' Mia whispered, turning away from Jayne and Tash. 'I can't get the hang of it.'

'Well, you have only been trying for half a day.'

'There might only ever be half a day,' said Mia grimly. She shifted on the chair. She never thought she'd see the time when she bemoaned a lack of padding on her b.u.m. 'Scaley Jase is being depressingly impressive. He mastered his toe and heel edge; he can already traverse at some speed. I'm sure by the end of the week he'll be speeding down black runs brilliantly,' spat Mia without doing much to hide her envy or irritation.

'Oh, come on, Mia. You knew he'd be marvellous. He's a great sportsman and totally fearless, almost bordering on the insane. That's what you love about him.'

'I don't love anything about him,' hissed Mia, further infuriated by Kate's choice of words. 'Why would I love his insanity? I'm a very measured person, extremely considered.'

'Exactly,' said Kate, with a sigh. She didn't bother to expand. Mia would understand her if she wanted to. She paused before tentatively adding, 'I'm not sure if I'll ski tomorrow.'

Suddenly, Tash piped up, 'Do you fancy an alternative buzz?'

'Quite,' said Kate, who wasn't actually sure what Tash had offered. Mia glared. She hoped that Tash hadn't heard the entire conversation. It was private.

'Boarding?' asked Tash.

'Not boarding,' said Kate with a definite tone that no one questioned. Tash thought for a second. 'There's quad bike riding, snowmobiles and climbing. I could take a day off the slopes, too, and join you if you'd like some company.'

'That's very kind of you, but I was more thinking a walk, perhaps with a guide.' In fact, Kate was thinking of a walk as far as the next creperie, but didn't want to say.

'Well, just let me know if you fancy some company,' said Tash, turning back to her magazine and fiddling with Jayne's hair.

'It looks like you guys cleared out the magazine rack,' said Mia, as she idly picked up a couple of the mags that the women were reading, then dropped them again. She couldn't help but wonder at their shiny insincerity. None of them related to her. Not the t.i.tles that were aimed at the bimbo, the chatterbox, the bride or even the thinking woman. She wasn't interested in interior design or gardening and, while she did enjoy cooking, she didn't need a magazine to tell her how to do it.

There had been a period in her life when she had subscribed to FitLife. It was at that time that she had employed a personal trainer. It had been a successful ruse and for a while Mia's thighs were brought under control, for a monthly cost that was greater than her mortgage repayments. She tried to remember why she stopped seeing her trainer. She had the feeling that it was because she decided that she could do without him. The way, in the end, she always decided she could do without everyone. Mia was a fast learner and had soon learnt his routine. Five laps around the common. One hundred sit-ups. Eighty press-ups. Sixty lunges on each leg. Forty bench presses against a felled tree, for G.o.d's sake. Twenty squats, and then cool down. La, la, la. It soon became very predictable. As it happened, she couldn't do without him, or rather, didn't do it without him. She never ran around the common and couldn't remember the last time she attempted a lunge. Instead she resorted to wearing flared skirts that camouflaged her growing thighs. She cancelled her subscription to FitLife.

Mia noticed that Jayne and Tash had each purchased a clutch of beauty and gossip magazines how predictable and Kate was looking at the posh parenting one called Junior.

'Why do you waste your time and money on magazines that think highbrow is a new way to wear your hair and the deep articles are about how to guarantee multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms?'

'Is there more to life?' commented Tash dryly. She glared at Mia. The gloves had come off in the pizzeria this afternoon and Tash felt liberated. Mia was an intellectual sn.o.b. She was cold and disapproving. Tash couldn't understand why Rich numbered her amongst his best friends and she knew she would never feel the same.

'We're just killing time waiting for the guys,' said Kate apologetically and diplomatically. In truth, she loved a good magazine. They were a mix between a best friend, a mother, a counsellor and a personal shopper. Kate looked for another topic of conversation, and chose badly. 'Jayne looks better every year, doesn't she?' she whispered.

'Yes,' admitted Mia. Jayne's chestnut hair tumbled across Tash's thighs, catching the light thrown from the open fire and shimmering. Her skin was peachy smooth, and Mia wondered what it felt like. Velvet, she supposed. No doubt Scaley would be in a position to tell her exactly what it felt like, very soon. She sighed, depressed.

Jayne was, without doubt, dazzling. Mia liked to think that, as a feminist, she always looked beyond the superficial. She hated the way women were continually judged on their looks. And yet she found that she judged that way all the time.

'It just goes to show what money can do. I bet she spends every Sat.u.r.day in the beautician's,' whispered Mia, which was in fact what she did herself. Kate didn't her beautician came to the house. Neither girl confided this to the other.

Instead, Kate commented, 'Natasha is beautiful, too, don't you think?'

There was nothing more annoying than an ugly duckling turning into a swan except, mused Mia, a girl that was born swan, lived swan and died swan. Tash was lovely. And while Mia hadn't personally known her at primary school, she was prepared to put a bet on the fact that Tash had always been lovely. She was the type of girl that played Mary in the school nativity play. (Mia had always been given the more vocal but considerably less glamorous part of a shepherd, Kate had always been a sheep and Jayne had been a tree. Jayne still smarted from the humiliation of having to wear nothing other than brown tights and a green roll-neck jumper on stage.) Tash was the girl who the teacher trusted to take the cla.s.s goldfish home during the summer holidays. She was the girl that fuelled every boy's early teen dreams in her secondary school. Mia knew this without even having to talk to Barbie Babe.

'h.e.l.lo, ladies, have you missed me?' Jase bounced into the foyer. It appeared everyone had. Jayne stretched and sat up, apologizing for catnapping in public; Kate and Tash beamed at Jase, simply pleased to see him, as he always helped the group to gel. Mia grinned in delight at the arrival of her sperm bank.

'I wonder where Ted is?' said Kate. 'It's quarter to eight. He's going to be late.'

'He'll be here in his own time,' a.s.sured Jase.

Kate leant close in to her two old friends and said, 'Can I ask you something?' Her normally strong face was crumpled.

'Ask away,' Jase grinned.

'Have you noticed anything different about Ted?'

Mia and Jase stared at Kate, then exchanged confused looks.

'Different, how?' asked Jase. 'Has he had a haircut? New snow gear?'

'No, no, don't be silly,' said Kate, not realizing that Jase was being perfectly serious. 'I, he's, I.' Kate wasn't sure what she wanted to say. 'Do you think he's behaving oddly? More distracted than normal? Less communicative?'

Kate felt that she was betraying her husband by mooting these ideas to their friends, but she didn't mean any harm, quite the opposite. She just had to know if she had an overactive imagination or if anyone else had noticed that Ted wasn't quite himself. He was not so jovial of late. Not so confident and loud. Obviously she would not mention to their friends that his s.e.x drive, usually respectable, had nosedived off the scale over the past few months. Dried up altogether, actually. She hadn't noticed at first. They'd been together for so long, and the children were such a drain on time and energy that loving had long since been confined to a once-every-couple-of-weeks activity. But then a month went by. Then several. She wouldn't dream of telling Mia and Jason this. She couldn't stand those horrible American-style confessionals. She had her pride.

Nor did she mention that he'd missed the parents' evenings at both Fleur's and Elliot's schools, and he was normally so involved with the children. He said he'd clean forgotten, even though she'd reminded him on the relevant mornings. He was always forgetting things nowadays. The other day he went to the office having forgotten his watch, and he'd twice forgotten to shave. Thank G.o.d for casual dress and designer stubble because otherwise he'd stick out like a sore thumb. Could he be ill? His uncle on his father's side had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. It was a tragedy to watch, but he'd been so much older, in his seventies. Ted was a young man. Although, he didn't always act it.

'Do you think he could be ill?' she blurted.

Jason and Mia silently stared their response. Eventually Jason said, 'He seems chipper to me.' He nudged Mia, who was internally fuming that Kate really didn't have enough to worry about. If the children were here, she'd have been imagining all manner of chills and coughs and colds. As she didn't have them to fuss over, she was diverting her smothering attention towards Ted. Poor Ted.

'Tops,' said Mia, with a yawn.

Kate nodded, pleased to have received rea.s.surance, however unenthusiastic. 'I wonder where he is?' she repeated.

'Action Man and Checkers have gone to the pool hall,' said Mia. 'Maybe he's joined them.'

'We'll all be late for dinner,' fretted Kate. 'What's he thinking of, wasting his time in pool halls? I think I'll go and find him.'

Mia and Jason rolled their eyes at one another as she bustled off. Jase was sitting close to Mia. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she reciprocated by patting his leg.

'Big Ted and Ms Monopoly can be really irritating,' she confided.

'They're your best friends,' Jase reminded her.