Free The Grass is Greener by Loretta Hill Page B

other piece of furnishing in the room was a giant oriental rug. From here, there were four doors they could have taken. Bronwyn would have taken the first one on her left but Chris stopped her.
    â€˜My parents are in here.’
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    He led her through the second door, the entrance to a large study occupied by two desks, a worn-looking couch and a couple of filing cabinets. The desk by the window had a computer on it and there was a woman in her sixties seated there, peering at the screen over her plastic pink glasses.
    â€˜Ah, Chris,’ she said without looking up. ‘I’m glad you’re back. Can you get your father out of here? He’s not helping me with these bills at all.’
    â€˜What are you talking about?’ a man of similar age protested from the couch. ‘All I’m doing is helping. It’s you who won’t listen.’
    She waved a paper bill at him crossly. ‘But we can’t get rid of the free cheese and crackers on the bar. Everyone in town will say we’ve fallen on hard times.’
    â€˜Er, Mum,’ Chris pointed out from the sidelines, ‘we have fallen on hard times.’
    â€˜Well, there’s no need to be so bloody blatant about it,’ his mother replied, finally allowing her gaze to find him, and then his companion.
    â€˜Bronwyn!’ she exclaimed, whipping off her glasses. She had the same vibrant eyes as her daughter. As she rose abruptly to her feet some papers that had been on her lap fell off and joined the many others littering the floor about her desk. ‘We’ve missed you so much, sweetie. You never come to visit us anymore and, believe me, you were the sanity in this house, let me tell you.’ She grabbed Bronwyn just above the elbows, so that she could examine her carefully. ‘You haven’t changed one bit. Oh … except for the hair, but that’s to be expected.’
    â€˜Absolutely.’ Bronwyn caught Chris’s mischievous look before she allowed the older woman to envelop her in a huge hug.
    She pulled back to observe her hostess. ‘You haven’t changed either, Lydia. You’re looking as well as ever.’
    â€˜Aren’t you a flatterer,’ the older woman chided, but looked pleased nonetheless.
    â€˜Bronwyn?’ Chris’s father stood up. He had turned his head left and was squinting out the corner of his eye at her. ‘Sorry, I can’t see as clearly as I used to.’
    She left Lydia’s side and came closer, knowing the distance didn’t help. ‘That’s okay, Horace.’
    The glaucoma had caused a gradual loss of sight, which would lead to eventual blindness – an age-related illness that was also incurable. She knew he was on some sort of medication to slow the process but he would never regain the eyesight he had already lost. Her heart went out to him. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been much more lively. Time and the disease had not been kind. It was strange to see him step forward with hesitation in his movements. Although he was only around five years older than Lydia, the gap seemed closer to ten now. His hair and eyebrows were more white than brown and his skin was riddled with sunspots.
    She hugged him. ‘It’s good to see you –’ She cut herself off awkwardly as she realised what she’d just said. ‘I mean –’
    â€˜There’s no need to walk on eggshells with me,’ he grunted. ‘I’ve got a thick skin. Too thick, according to my wife. So, how’s life been treating you, anyway?’ He seemed to visibly buoy himself to ask. ‘Still in the fast lane?’
    â€˜Er … sort of.’
    Where do I start?
    Lydia waggled a finger and then said to Chris, ‘This girl always had a terrible poker face.’
    â€˜Tell me about it.’ He grinned. ‘What’s going on, Numbat? You promised me an explanation at some point.’
    Bronwyn shifted from