Free Hubble Bubble by Christina Jones Page A

Lavender nodded happily. ‘He’s upstairs in the bedroom with Lobelia.’
    Jesus! Mitzi whimpered. ‘Okay, now don’t panic. Youring the police and I’ll go up and see what I can do.’
    ‘Why would we need the police, dear?’ Lavender queried. ‘We haven’t got any more room. And anyway it would only be that rather dim Tom Hodgkin at this time of night – unless of course that nice young sergeant is on duty in which case we could perhaps squeeze them in and—’
    ‘We’re not inviting them to a damn party, Lav. It doesn’t matter about the numbers. This could be serious. Just ring them and say this man has forced his way into your house and that he’s taken your 82-year-old sister hostage and—’
    ‘Lobelia is eighty-one and a half,’ Lavender said crossly. ‘And I’m seventy-nine. And she’s hasn’t been taken hostage. Are you quite sure you’re all right, Mitzi?’
    ‘Lav, look, you really should never, ever let strange people into your home. You know that don’t you?’
    ‘Yes, dear, of course we do. We’re not senile, you know. But he’s not a stranger. Dr Merrydew sent him. Because of our ad in the surgery. Good heavens Mitzi, surely you remember? We advertised for a lodger, dear. And he’s here. Look …’
    Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Mitzi realised that she’d been shaking violently. Her legs were really quite wobbly, so she sank down on the bottom stair, painted 1950s cream with a faded dusty runner in sepulchre brown, as Lav unfolded a piece of paper.
    ‘There. See? A written recommendation from Dr Merrydew. This young man is newly attached to the hospital at Winterbrook and there’s been an accommodation problem – his digs were double booked – and Dr Merrydew said he should try us. He’s a paraplegic.’ Lavender beamed. ‘And his name’s Shag.’
    ‘What?’ Mitzi tried to focus on the scribbled writing. ‘No, no – this says he’s a paramedic. And his name’s Shay, Lavender. Shay.’
    ‘Oh,’ Lavender peered at the note. ‘Yes, well, maybe. Dr Merrydew’s writing is practically indecipherable. It’s why everyone has to swap their prescriptions at thepharmacy. Do you remember when your Lance needed some ointment for his verruca and he got Mrs Elkins’s Arthur’s steroid cream instead? Didn’t we all laugh? I mean, not too bad for your Lance of course, but absolute murder for Mrs Elkins’s Arthur’s haemorrhoids. And do you remember when—’
    ‘Yes, yes …’ Mitzi pulled herself to her feet. ‘And I can see that everything’s okay, even if it is a bit late for anyone to be looking for lodgings, but—’
    Any further assurances were interrupted by Lobelia, beaming almost as widely as Lu had been, and the gorgeous Shay, making their way downstairs.
    ‘Oh, Mitzi – lovely to see you. Were you feeling suicidal, dear? This is Shay Donovan, our new lodger. Mr Donovan, this is Mitzi Blessing, our next-door neighbour.’
    They shook hands rather awkwardly.
    ‘We’ve already met,’ Mitzi explained to Lobelia. ‘Lav’ll tell you – anyway, I must get back.’
    ‘Mitzi was worried that it was a bit late to be entertaining gentlemen callers,’ Lavender puffed, bending down to yank her football socks up to her knees. ‘She was worried about us – or so she said. To be honest—’ she fluttered pale eyelashes in Shay’s direction ‘—I think she was lonely. She’s divorced, you know.’
    Shay smiled at Mitzi with deep understanding. ‘So are my parents. And you seemed to be having a fine time when I called.’
    ‘We were,’ Mitzi assured him. ‘I’d cooked a meal for my daughters and—’
    Lobelia hooted with laughter. ‘Cooking! You? That’s a turn-up!’
    ‘Yes, I know – anyway, I was fine – but it just seemed very late for – er – Mr Donovan to be calling and I thought—’
    Shay pushed his tousled hair away from his face. It fell back again. ‘There was a mix-up – I was supposed to be sharing a flat in Winterbrook, arrived