Coming to Malcolm’s house to celebrate his birthday hadn’t been Lola’s idea of a fun-packed way to spend a Saturday afternoon but it was part of the deal. Blythe had finally, reluctantly agreed to meet Nick again – and this time be civil to him – on condition that Lola first returned the compliment and met Malcolm’s family and friends.
‘But why?’ Lola protested. ‘What’s the point of me being there?’ Apart from anything else, they were bound to be a load of beardy, lentil-eating, Scrabble-playing old fogeys.
‘Because everyone’s heard all about you,’ Blythe said patiently, ‘and they’d love the chance to meet you properly. Come on, it’ll be fun.’
Hmm, that was debatable. In truth it was all a bit too meetthe-in-laws for Lola’s liking. She didn’t want her mother’s relationship with Malcolm to be progressing in this direction. Why would Blythe even want to carry on seeing Malcolm now that Lola had found her such an infinitely more desirable alternative? How could she possibly prefer bumbling teddy-bear Malcolm to someone as sleek and stylish as Nick?
But a deal was a deal and maybe Blythe just needed a bitmore time to venture out of her comfort zone, to get used to the idea that Nick James was back in her life. Lola vowed to be utterly charming to Malcolm’s family and friends no matter how bearded and dull they might be, and then her mother would be forced to do the same when she came over to Radley Road next week to meet up again with Nick.
Oh God, please don’t let anyone this afternoon suggest a nice game of Monopoly.
After two hours of being relentlessly charming, Lola was beginning to flag. She’d talked – well, bellowed – about books to Malcolm’s ancient deaf neighbour from across the road. Then she’d chatted some more about books to one of his other neighbours, who was very keen on gardening.
The drawback of her job was that when strangers were making polite conversation they invariably started talking about their favourite books and authors. She now knew that the ancient deaf lady was a fan of Daphne du Maurier, that the gardening fan liked books about .. . um, gardening, and that Malcolm’s ruddy- faced friend Miles was immensely proud of the fact that he was capable of quoting great swathes of P. G. Wodehouse he’d learned by heart. Even when nobody was remotely interested in hearing him do it.
It almost came as a relief when Miles’s boisterous son – ‘Can you ask J.K. Rowling to put me in her next book?’ – accidentally knocked a slice of pepperoni pizza down the front of Lola’s cream shirt. Resisting the urge to reply, ‘You mean squashed between the pages like a beetle?’ she excused herself and escaped to sponge off the stain.
In the kitchen she found Annie, Malcolm’s plump daughter-in-law, busy taking trays of quiche and stuffed peppers out of the oven.
Annie chatted away as Lola sponged the front of her shirt.
‘It’s so lovely to meet you at last. Malcolm’s told us so much about you.’ Her bosom jiggling as she carved up the quiches, she added jovially, ‘That’s when he isn’t telling us about your mum!’
‘Poor you.’ Lola pulled a sympathetic face.
‘Oh we love it, it’s so sweet! They get on so well together, don’t they? Just like a couple of teenagers!’
OK, they definitely weren’t like a couple of teenagers. ‘Mm.’ Lola kept her voice neutral. Talk about getting carried away.
‘It’s wonderful for both of them. Malcolm’s such a lovely person,’ Annie prattled on. ‘And of course your mum is too! And now it’s just so perfect that they’ve found each other. I’m a sucker for a good old romance, aren’t you?’
Lola said cheerfully, ‘Old being the operative word!’ Yuk, please let Annie be wrong.
‘Oh dear, that mark isn’t coming out.’ Annie eyed the orange pizza stain Lola had been scrubbing at on the front of her shirt. ‘And now you’re all wet!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. And definitely don’t offer to lend me one of Malcolm’s jumpers to wear instead.’ Flippantly Lola added, ‘Or one of his lumberjack shirts!’
‘Oh but—’
‘Honestly, I’d rather stay wet. I’m sure Malcolm’s lovely, but the geography teacher look isn’t quite me.’ Lola pulled a complicit face because Annie was herself wearing a stunning navy silk dress and jewelled Karen Millen shoes, so would understand.
Annie paused and gave her an odd sideways look. ‘Malcolm’s just Malcolm. Clothes aren’t his number one priority.’ Tippingfrozen rosti onto a baking tray she, went on, ‘Why, does that bother you?’
Damn, she didn’t understand. Hastily, Lola said, ‘No, it was just a joke.’
‘He might not dress like Prince Charles,’ Annie said stiffly, ‘but he’s still a nice person.’
Oh God, now she’d offended Annie. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘And it’s not as if your mum’s a great style queen anyway.’ Now it was Lola’s turn to be offended. She might be allowed to criticise Blythe’s dress sense but no one else was.
‘See?’ Evidently reading her mind, Annie raised an eyebrow.
‘Not very nice, is it?’
‘I just want my mum to be happy.’ Lola dabbed furiously at her wet shirt with a fresh wodge of kitchen roll.
‘And you don’t think Malcolm’s up to the job? You don’t think he’s good enough for her, is that it?’
Honestly, all this kerfuffle because she’d said Malcolm dressed like a geography teacher.
‘Not at all,’ Lola ventured carefully. ‘I just wonder if they’re as compatible as you think they are.
They might enjoy each other’s company, but how much do they really have in common?’
‘They don’t have to have anything in common! People are different! You love books,’ Annie retorted. ‘I think books are boring! But that’s just me and it doesn’t matter. My husband’s a motorbike fanatic and I love slushy
