Free Out on a Limb by Lynne Barrett-Lee Page B

enough. Second impression. Heartless, money-grabbing toe-rag.
    ‘I didn’t say that , obviously,’ I tell Dee when I ring her later. ‘I made all the right noises. It’s obviously all to the good to get high-profile patients in. But, good Lord. Why me? How me, more to the point? How did he know where I worked?’
    ‘Well, you did tell him you were a physio, didn’t you? He must have looked you up or something. Anyway, why worry? It’s good publicity for you, isn’t it? And, hey, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’
    I snort. ‘You and Candice both.’
    ‘Who’s Candice?’
    ‘Our receptionist. I think she’s already booked her bikini wax and pedicure.’
    ‘Well, you’ve got to admit, he is rather gorgeous.’
    They’re both mad, clearly. He is so not that. ‘Gorgeous? Gorgeous nothing. All I know is that he’s responsible for chucking my mother out on the street. Which is hardly going to enamour me of him, is it?’
    ‘I thought that was his sister.’
    ‘Oh, come on . It’s still half his house. And why else would he just fetch up out of the blue like that? And don’t you think it’s just a little bit rich that he should think it okay to blithely make an appointment for me to look at his knee after all that’s happened? Like he’d even think I’d want to. I was pretty off with him at the solicitors, I can tell you. Does he think he’s doing me a favour or something?’
    ‘Perhaps he does.’
    ‘Well I certainly don’t want any favours from that lot. I’ve a good mind to tell him to take his bloody ligaments elsewhere.’
    ‘Perhaps that’s what he thought. And he’s obviously made the effort to track you down, so perhaps it’s by way of a conciliatory gesture,’ she suggests.
    ‘Oh, yeah, right. We make your mother homeless but have a thirty pound consultation fee to make up for it. Great.’
    ‘Or perhaps he wants a chance to talk to you. He probably feels bad about it. Or perhaps he –’
    ‘Oh, yeah, right. Like you really thinks he gives a monkey’s? Forget Mum. He hasn’t even spoken to his own father for twenty years. And then, all of a sudden, up he pops for his inheritance. I think it’s an absolute disgrace.’
    ‘Actually, I was going to say that perhaps he fancies you. Have you thought of that?’
    ‘Oh, don’t talk such piffle. He’s engaged to Lucy Whittall, don’t forget.’
    ‘Good Lord! Is he?’
    ‘They’re getting married at Christmas by all accounts. It was all in Depth magazine. Candice showed me.’ I hear myself tutting. ‘It’s sickening, it really is. The whole lot of them are obviously loaded – that Corinne drives a Jag, you know – yet they don’t seem to have the slightest compunction about throwing a defenceless little old lady out of her home.’
    Pru laughs. ‘You know,’ she says. ‘I can think of lots of words to describe your mother, but those are the last I’d have thought of.’
    More’s the pity, I think. More’s the bloody pity.

Chapter 7
    P OSTCARD : FRONTSIDE – OLIVE GROVE , wizened person, flagon, donkey. Backside – Hi all! Hic! xxx
    Oh, oh, oh . What I wouldn’t give to be sitting in an olive grove right now. What I wouldn’t give to be sitting in any sort of grove right now. What I wouldn’t give to be sitting, period.
    Memo to self: Friday : a.m.
    If not raining, cut grass , bath dog. p.m. DO NOTHING.
    If raining, a.m. brush dog, Go shopping. Lunch with Dee. p.m. DO NOTHING.
    Things I do NOT wish to be doing on my day off: driving to my mother’s house, hoovering her carpets, scraping – indeed, even touching – any part of Hugo’s rancid tropical fish ensemble complete with nodding Victorian novelty diving person, collecting up post, putting rubbish out for dustmen, watering pot plants (with exception of the cactus in the downstairs loo, which is not to be watered at any point ever ), locating and removing Hugo’s car keys (they’ll not be getting their hands on that ), gathering up black jacket, beige