‘Do I! The Christmas Day from hell. Yes, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that. There was an account with about £1,000 in it, and I think that must be the prizes it’s won over the years. And I cashed in the £100, too, so that can be added to it.’
Diane gazed at her brother with affection. He was such a soppy old sod in his sheepskin slippers and golf shirt. ‘Oh, Freddy. You’re a bloody bad liar. Therewereno premium bonds in Dad’s things, were there?’
Freddy pulled a shamed face. ‘No.’
‘And therefore no account with £1,000 in?’
‘No.’
‘He never bought those bonds, did he?’
A big grimace. ‘I didn’t find any evidence of them.’ He hesitated. ‘I never talked to you about it because Gareth asked me for them after Dad died and I told him the bonds weren’t there. He asked for £100 out of the estate and I said only once I’d talked to you about it. He didn’t seem to want to take it any further.’
Diane looked out at the dripping garden and heaved a great sigh. Puddles stood on the lawn, the earth baked too hard for absorbency. ‘I didn’t know that. Of course, he might’ve meant to pass the money on to Bryony.’
‘Or keep it safe for her.’ Freddy’s glance was sympathetic. ‘Let me give her the £100 – it was promised to her.’
Diane debated. Her first instinct was to refuse. But then she remembered that it wasn’t actually her £100. ‘I’ll talk to her about it. She’s going to need money.’ And she told Freddy about Bryony’s pregnancy.
At home in Purtenon St. Paul, Diane found Bryony sitting at the kitchen table and sighing, the ever-present inhaler beside her. She was wearing panelled maternity jeans that Diane had embroidered and the kind of frown that changed her appearance from elf to imp.
Diane was familiar with that pucker on her daughter’s forehead. She dropped her bag on the kitchen chair. ‘What’s up?’
Bryony shrugged and turned a page of her magazine. ‘We haven’t got a computer and there’s no cyber café in the village. I want to email my friends in Brasilia.’
‘You can come into Peterborough with me when I visit Dad tomorrow, do it then.’
‘Yeah. Guess.’ Another page flipped over. Then, casually, ‘None of my friends here seem free to go out much.’
‘You went out with them last night.’
The magazine shut with a slap. ‘Yeah. Some. But that’s evening. I want to meet my old mates and go shopping and have a laugh. Claudia and Bella, for instance.’
‘Where are Claudia and Bella?’
Bryony’s fingers drummed on the front of the magazine, right on the sensational cover-model’s blinding white teeth. ‘Claudia’s on a gap working in a taverna on a Greek island and getting browner and beautifuller. And Bella’s doing work experience for the BBC in Manchester, meeting loads of cool people.’
Diane washed her hands ready to prepare the evening meal. ‘What? They’ve had the temerity to get a life while you’ve been overseas? Shame on them.’
A reluctant smile curved Bryony’s mouth. ‘Get over yourself, Mother, being a smartmouth doesn’t suit you. I had one phone call, though.’ She hesitated. ‘From Pops.’
Diane smiled. ‘I like him, your new grandfather.’
‘He’s invited me out to dinner, tomorrow evening. He wants for us to get to know each other.’
‘Sounds wonderful. I’ll make sure you can have the car.’
Bryony hesitated. ‘Well … he says he’s sending a car for me. You know – like with a driver.’
Water dripped on the floor as Diane turned to stare. ‘Wow! Get you.’
Bryony blushed. ‘It’s really cool, isn’t it?’
‘Really.’ Turning back to the chicken breasts that she was washing, Diane debated whether to go to the fag of peeling potatoes or whether to microwave the chicken then chop it up and chuck it in with some vegetables and a jar of curry sauce. Microwave, she decided. ‘So, did you meet George last night?’
Bryony’s smile faded. ‘Yeah.’
‘Have a good time?’
