‘Yes. Poor confused elderly people being cheated out of their money and home.’
Lottie snorted a chuckle. ‘He’s not confused. And I’m pretty sure there’s no way she could get the house, because the deeds are with the solicitor. Poor Bernard has already had his home sold from under him.’Just like me, she thought. Lottie washed the last glass and placed it on the drainer. ‘Plus, I think you’re overlooking the fact Dayea is lovely. She dotes on Uncle Bernard.’
‘It’s not right though. An age difference like that.’
Lottie’s eyebrows rose and stayed put. There was no way she could let that one go. ‘What, like the age gap between you and Scott?’
Angie pulled her head back like a threatened tortoise, giving herself a triple chin. ‘That’s completely different, as you well know.’
‘No, it’s not. You’re old enough to have breast-fed him.’
‘Rubbish. There’s only single figures between me and Scott.’
‘If you believe that, then you’re either delusional or very bad at maths.’
Angie chewed her lip. ‘It’s single figures, because he thinks I’m forty-two, so—’
‘He’s the one that’s bad at maths.’ She waved a tea towel at her mother, but when she ignored the gesture Lottie started drying up.
Angie moved towards Lottie and she thought, for a moment, she was about to lend a hand but instead shehoiked herself up to sit on the worktop. ‘Did you read your Christmas card?’
‘From you? Yes, I said thank you,’ said Lottie, deliberately misunderstanding her mother’s question.
‘No. The one from Nana.’ Angie’s expression was brooding.
Lottie was a terrible liar, so she deflected the question, in the hope that her mother wouldn’t probe any further. ‘Yep. Did you open yours?’ Her mother nodded. Lottie paused the drying up. ‘And?’
Angie shrugged. ‘It said she knew about the cancer and she wanted me to be happy.’
Lottie watched her mother closely. It was likely she had inherited her useless lying ability from her. ‘And what was her advice?’
Angie glanced over Lottie’s shoulder and her expression changed.
‘Here you are,’ said Scott, from the doorway. ‘Everyone’s going to bed. Shall we?’
‘I was just giving Lottie a hand, but I think we’re nearly done now.’ She hopped down from the worktop and kissed Lottie lightly on the cheek. ‘Night, darling,’ she said.
‘Thanks for an ace evening,’ said Scott.
‘You’re welcome.’ She watched them snuggle together as they walked away. She couldn’t help but marvel at her mother’s unfailing conviction that this next guy might be the one, and that, if it turned out he wasn’t, she would still believe her perfect man was out there somewhere, she merely had to hunt him down.
Maybe Lottie wasn’t cut out for relationships. For some reason the men she fell for found her really easy to walk away from. She knew she couldn’t face a lifetime of being hurt; she wasn’t as resilient as her mother. She took things to heart, she always had.
Zach strode in carrying more glasses. ‘These were on the windowsill.’
‘I asked if that was all of them,’ said Lottie, feeling tired and a bit irritated.
‘Hey, I’ve just sat and blown up umpteen balloons. Packets of the things.’
‘Ta,’ she said, ticking balloons off her list, but she lacked enthusiasm.
‘You need a hand?’
‘No, Mum’s been helping me.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows registered his surprise.
‘No, not really.’ She plunged the glasses into the suds. ‘Sorry, I’m tired and … you know … Joe’s back.’ She held his gaze for a moment and some level of understanding passed between them.
