Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [40]
Chloe rubbed her aching temples. She didn't know which was worse, struggling to add up or having to listen to her mother's incessant outpourings.
`Set about getting that husband of yours back, that's what you've got to do.' Pamela nodded briskly
Oh God.
`Mother, I know Greg. He's not going to change his mind. I'm on my own now.'
`Ah, but you're not on your own, are you? You've got a baby on the way. You can't live on fresh air, my girl. Not
that you could call London air fresh.' This last remark was accompanied by a snort of contempt.
`I'll give up this flat. Find somewhere cheaper,' Chloe said wearily.
`Oh yes, that'll do the baby a power of good, growing up in some filthy tenement with muggers and drug addicts lurking on every corner. No no no,' Pamela Greening went on, her expression firm. `Have another talk with Greg. I'm sure he'll help out. After all, that's what husbands are for.'
Chapter 17
`You see, the thing is, Mother,' said Bruce, `if we go through the bank, the amount of interest they'd charge would be extortionate. Then it occurred to me that you've got all that money sloshing around in your accounts… and it's not as if you're using it for anything…'
Verity had taken Jason through to the kitchen in search of Coca-Cola. As soon as Bruce had pulled his chair closer to hers and assumed an earnest expression, Florence had known what to expect.
Her heart had sunk.
It's my birthday and what do I get? A brief duty visit from my family and a request for money.
A request for more money, Florence amended. Whatever had happened to the last ten thousand… and the twenty before that?
`How do you know I'm not using it? I may have plans,' she said calmly.
Bruce shot her a look of disbelief.
`Plans to do what? You don't have a business to keep running. You never do anything, go anywhere…'
`I know.' Florence shrugged, indicating with a wiggle of her empty glass that a refill wouldn't go amiss. `So maybe
it's about time I started. Doing things and going places,' she mused, enjoying the expression on her son's face. `Jolly expensive things and frighteningly expensive places.'
`Okay, fine, but surely you can spare some cash.'
Bruce's neck had reddened, signalling his discomfort. Normally, Florence remembered, she said yes straight away and scribbled out a cheque on the spot.
Oh Bruce, I'm your mother, not a gourmet meal-ticket for life.
Aloud she said, `Darling, pour me another drink, would you? Plenty of ice this time.'
In the kitchen a lot of furious whispering ensued.
`I don't know why she has to be so difficult,' Florence heard Verity hiss. `You'll get everything when she dies anyway.'
`Is Granny going to die?' Jason sounded enthralled. `When, soon?'
If this were a P.D. James thriller, Florence thought, I'd be lucky to see out the night.
Wheeling herself over to the kitchen doorway, she announced, `I'm sixty-two, Verity, not a hundred and two.'
`Sorry, Florence, you weren't meant to hear that.' Tightlipped, Verity braced herself against the fridge. `But it's true, isn't it? Bruce is your son. It's practically his money, and I don't think you're being terribly sensitive here. Can't you understand how humiliating it is for him having to ask you for something that's rightfully his anyway?'
Since nobody appeared to be getting her that drink, Florence manoeuvred past them and did it herself. `How much do you need?'
Bruce's stubby fingers fiddled with the knot of his topaz Armani tie.
`Fifteen.'
`Fifteen pounds or fifteen thousand?'
Not in the mood for jokes, Bruce flicked her a glance and helped himself to a good inch of gin.
`I'll give you five thousand,' said Florence.
Verity, looking as if a couple of hundred volts had just shot up her bottom, yelped, `Oh, come on, that's not-'
`If it isn't enough,' Florence went on, `I suggest you sell that shiny new Mercedes.'
Heavens, this was so liberating! Like wriggling out of