Sarah slunk over to the bar. She ordered a bottle of prosecco and hoped neither Cynthia nor Marjorie would notice the difference.
‘Here you go,’ said Sarah, pouring out three glasses.
‘To us,’ cried Marjorie, clinking her glass so hard against Sarah’s half the contents spilled out.Thank goodness I didn’t fork out for champagne, thought Sarah.
Marjorie and Cynthia embarked on a lengthy monologue about their lives in Spain. They interrupted one another to correct details, or exaggerate them.
‘Has your mother told you about Marco?’
‘Um, no, I don’t think so. Who’s Marco, Mum?’
Cynthia grinned. ‘Marco is your soon-to-be step-dad.’
‘My what?’ asked Sarah, her face falling as Cynthia held out a hand to show off a cheap, tacky ring.
‘You’re invited to the wedding, of course, but I’ve asked Marjorie to be my bridesmaid.’
‘Hold on, you’re getting married?’
‘Yes, wonderful news isn’t it,’ piped up Marjorie. ‘I must admit I’m jealous. I’ve lived over there ten years and never found the right man. Your mum’s been there five minutes and has a ring on her finger.’
‘Isn’t there the slight problem you’re already married?’ asked Sarah, thinking the day couldn’t get much worse.
‘Oh, that will be sorted soon. Your father and I are going to speak to a solicitor while I’m over here. He wanted to do it all online, but I don’t trust those internet forms.’
‘So what’s he like, this Marco?’
‘Well… he’s younger than me…’
‘How much younger?’
‘He’s in his mid-thirties.’
‘He’s twenty-nine,’ corrected Marjorie.
‘Twenty nine? But that’s only four years older than me! You’re old enough to be his mother.’
Cynthia scowled. ‘Age doesn’t matter when you’re in love.’
Sarah sighed. What could be more depressing than her irritating, overbearing, orange mother having a better love life than her? Sarah took a large gulp of fizz and prayed the day would soon be over.
Chapter 32
Eachstepclosertothe café filled Sarah with a deeper sense of dread. What would she find when she arrived? Would she still have a job? After a long night thinking about it, Sarah could see that she might have overreacted to the scone-gate, but she stood by the principle of the matter. Stealing was stealing.
‘Morning,’ said Hattie as Sarah walked in.
‘Morning.’
‘Everything OK now?’
‘Yes.’ Sarah watched Hattie from the corner of her eye as she gathered up an apron from behind the counter.
‘No Fran today, I’m afraid.’
‘Again?’
‘She’s got an appointment this morning. I told her to take the rest of the day off.’
