Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [38]
`I don't know what kind of card your mother would like.' Chloe was indignant, hurt on Florence's behalf.
`She's sixty-two years old.' Bruce hunched his shoulders impatiently. `What more d'you need to know? Just grab something with flowers on.'
As she listened to him arranging a game of golf for tomorrow morning, Chloe wondered if he expected her to sign the card as well, maybe pp it on his behalf. She had never met Bruce's mother but they had chatted briefly on the phone several times when Florence had rung the shop to speak to him.
She'd sounded brilliant, Chloe thought rebelliously. Far nicer than her mean old son.
`Use the gold paper,' Bruce called over his shoulder. `You mean the three-pounds-a-sheet stuff?' Behind his back Chloe pulled a scandalised face.
`What the hell.' He flapped a pudgy, indulgent hand in the air. `It's her birthday. She likes a bit of gold.'
`I'm sorry, we're about to close,' Bruce informed the customer pushing the door open at five thirty.
`I know that, I'm Chloe's mother.' More than a match for Bruce, Pamela Greening swept past him. `He still isn't at home,' she told Chloe, who was lugging a box of china Dalmatians out of the stockroom. `That's four times I've been round there today and no one's in. Out with his floozy, I'll be bound. Scared to face me. Should you be lifting that?' She fixed her daughter with a disapproving eye.
Too late, Chloe realised that there were one or two facts she should have warned her mother not to mention in front of Bruce.
`Mum, I don't care if Greg's out with his floozy.' It was a lie, but Bruce's attention had to be diverted somehow. `I don't care if he has a whole harem of floozies. Mum went to see him last night,' she told Bruce, pink-cheeked, `and he was with a girl.'
`So that's why he walked out on you. He's found someone else.' Bruce nodded; he had suspected as much all along. Then he frowned. `But-'
`Okay if I leave these until Monday,' Chloe blurted out, `now that Mum's here? And you've got Florence's birthday do to get to… oh, mustn't forget the present…' She thrust the gift-wrapped box, trailing spirals of gold ribbon, into Bruce's unsuspecting arms. He stared down at it, then with bewilderment back at her.
`Why shouldn't you be lifting anything heavy?'
`Bad back. Nothing to worry about,' Chloe assured him. `Just a touch of psoriasis.'
`Psoriasis?'
`Not psoriasis. Sciatica.' Was that right? She felt herself break into a light sweat. `Or lumbago.' That was definitely a back-achey kind of thing. `Maybe lumbago,' she amended, `the doctor wasn't sure.'
`You didn't tell me you had lumbago.' Pamela Greening's tone was accusing.
`It's not serious, just the occasional twinge. Come on, Mum, let's go.'
`All right, all right, but you watch yourself,' her mother warned. `You shouldn't be lugging heavy boxes around anyway.' For good measure she wagged a finger at Chloe. `It's no good for the baby.'
`Stay,' Florence urged when the doorbell rang. `Just for a bit.' She gulped down her tumbler of whisky. `I can't face them sober. Lord, this is worse than a visit from Social Services.'
Miranda got up to answer the door.
`I'll stay on one condition. If Jason kicks me, I'm allowed to lock him in the microwave.'
`Happy birthday, Mother.' Dutifully Bruce pecked Florence's powdered cheek.
`Many happy returns,' Verity echoed, nudging Jason forwards. `Go on, darling, give Granny a kiss.'
`You smell of whisky,' Jason told Florence.
`Thank heavens for that, I'd hate to think I'd been drinking cold tea. And speaking of drinks.' She turned to Miranda, who was gazing with longing in the direction of the microwave. `Could you be an angel and do the honours?'
The birthday gift was unwrapped and duly admired. Elegant though the candlesticks were, they weren't to Florence's