Free Ordinary Miracles by Grace Wynne-Jones

stuff?’
    ‘I thought I might leave it around – a ski here and snowshoe there. You know, create hints of an athletic, thrusting alter ego.’
    I looked at him suspiciously. ‘Well, there’s not much point leaving them in this box then, is there?’
    ‘No, I suppose not.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Actually, they don’t belong to me. They belong to my cousin.’
    ‘The one with the canoe?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘And I suppose he owns all the tennis rackets and rock climbing equipment in there too?’
    ‘Yup. He’s gone abroad for a while – he took his hang- glider.’
    I began to heave the box again. Charlie looked on.
    ‘Are you just going to stand there watching?’ I grumbled.
    ‘Well, you said you didn’t want any help.’
    ‘Just take this end will you?’ I pushed the box at him.
    ‘All right,’ Charlie grinned. ‘But only if you feel it won’t undermine your macho image.’
    We got the stuff cleared pretty quickly after that.
    ‘Thanks, Charlie,’ I said later, while we were eating. ‘You were right, it was nice to have some help.’
    ‘I’ve found that’s often the case.’
    ‘But I’m beginning to feel guilty. I’ve relied on your kindness for long enough. I’ve got to decide whether to find a place of my own or move back with Bruce.’
    I thought Charlie would be relieved to hear this, but in fact he looked a bit surprised.
    ‘Stay here as long as you want,’ he said solemnly.
    ‘You keep helping me, Charlie. What can I do to help you?’ I didn’t mean to make it sound so impatient – angry almost.
    ‘You do help me. You help me a lot.’
    ‘How? Tell me one thing I’ve done that’s been of assistance.’
    And then Charlie looked at me tenderly, as if to say, ‘If you don’t know I’m not going to tell you.’
    And of course I did know. I don’t know how I could have fooled myself into thinking that I didn’t. We’re growing closer, Charlie and I. We’re incredibly comfortable with one another. I need his friendship. He understands me better than anyone. And I’ve grown so fond of Rosie, too.
    Talking of Rosie, she’s taken to coming into the house. Charlie and I actively discouraged this but, undeterred, she always looked hopefully at the back door each time she passed it. Then, one evening, she started to butt the door with her snout. She’s let out of her big pen at regular intervals for rambles round Charlie’s garden.
    We told her to stop butting the door and she did. But as she stood there, quietly looking up at us, it was clear she was deeply offended.
    Charlie’s found an old thick rug for her to sit on when she comes in. She joined us for Coronation Street the other night. She sat there very quietly, like a child who’s been allowed up way past her bedtime. Every so often her ears twitched, and her small eyes were bright with barely contained excitement.
    ‘The picture of porcine pleasure,’ said Charlie as he leaned over to scratch her back.
    ‘Maybe,’ I replied. ‘But I think we should draw the line at Eastenders.’
    I was scared that she might crap all over the carpet, butCharlie said she uses a corner of her pen as her toilet and is quite fastidious. This turns out to be true. Last night, when she and Charlie were playing with one of those squeaky plastic toys for dogs, she suddenly raced towards the door and started to squeal urgently. The minute she was outside she bolted into her pen, relieved herself, and then smugly trotted back into the house. I think I’m going to have to start being strict because the other day I found her looking, rather longingly, towards my bedroom.
    I’m glad I got Katie and Sarah’s rooms ready early this week, because one of the agencies I signed up with has phoned to offer me some temporary secretarial work. I hope I sounded calm and business-like as I took down the details, because I felt like a cross between a Pepsi and a Rennies commercial. Part of me wanted to jump into the air and another wanted to clutch my