Read Online All That Mullarkey by Sue Moorcroft - Free Book Online Page A

her legs. She uncrossed them and colour touched her cheeks. But her eyes were amused. She turned to one of the web design girls, Fran. ‘This concentrated exchange of information might feel a bit scary at the beginning – but it’s a fun activity, honest.’ Fran laughed and Cleo grinned back. ‘Everyone will take their turn to ask someone a question, one to which you won’t know the answer. The person who’s answered will be next to ask. And I’ll begin … can you tell me about any part-time job you had as a teenager? Speak for about one minute.’
    Fran pinkened, wriggled about and said ‘um’ five times before faltering into an account of working in Woolworths as a Saturday girl, growing more articulate as she described the nylon overall, sadistic till rolls and stroppy customers. Two other women, alight with shared memories, exclaimed in recognition of the days they were Woolies Saturday girls, too.
    Cleo moved the activity on. ‘Brilliant! Your turn now, Fran. Choose somebody, then ask them a question. Try to be specific.’
    After a moment’s thought, Fran addressed Phil. ‘Can you remember something that made you sad when you were twenty-one?’
    Phil clutched his chest theatrically. ‘She was twenty-three, blonde, sexy and beautiful – and going out with my brother. When I asked her out, she laughed. I was so heartbroken I almost joined the Foreign Legion.’ He was greeted with laughter from the men, aaah ’s from the women.
    As the chain progressed, Phil asked Bernadette what she expected to be doing when she reached forty. Bernadette asked Holly how her family had reacted to news of her pregnancy.
    Every time Justin looked at Cleo, she was listening intently. Encouraging a few more words if an answer came up short, nodding at exclamations of experiences in common, neatly curtailing responses that threatened to ramble. Cool, quietly authoritative. Good at doing her thing.
    Then it was Holly’s turn. ‘Justin. What do you do in your spare time? Keep it clean!’
    Lovely. Good old Holly, he couldn’t have scripted a better question. ‘I’ve got a part share in a jet-ski. Me and my mates go out to a lake.’ He described the speed, the plumes of spray, the carving of patterns in the surface, the noise, how it felt to be carrying a passenger, warm arms around his waist like a seat belt. He smiled at Cleo, who was looking down at her notes, cheeks pink. ‘My question isn’t it?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Cleo.’ Her head jerked up, eyes horrified. ‘Cleo, tell us about the last time you got drunk and regretted it.’ He grinned. Couldn’t help it. Her flush became a scald and a sheen broke out below her eyes and his grin stretched until he must look like The Joker.
    She attempted a shaky laugh. ‘Oh, I regret it every time I get drunk!’ As if in the throes of a hangover, she clutched her head.
    But the group waited expectantly, gazes fixed on her. And Justin added calmly, ‘Come on. Be honest.’

Chapter Eight
    She bit her lip and shot him a glance. The expectant silence dragged on. She squared her shoulders. ‘OK. A couple of weekends ago I was upset and came into Peterborough to find my sister, to cry on her shoulder.’ Her voice was thin, tight, artificially casual, a verbal shrug as if to make the story unimportant. ‘I couldn’t find my sister –’ She looked at him again. And this time he read her eyes.
    Betrayed. Reproachful.
    He cut across her. ‘I’m sorry, I was supposed to be asking another staff member, wasn’t I? Ian, when did you last get drunk and regret it?’
    Ian groaned. ‘Yesterday! Regretted it this morning when the alarm went off. Don’t you just hate alarms? Yeep, yeep, yeep ! I couldn’t face breakfast –’ Laughing heads turned Ian’s way. But Justin looked at Cleo and saw that her eyes were swimming. She rifled through her handbag, found a tissue and shook her hair forward whilst she blew her nose.
    Balls, balls, balls .
    They filed out at the end of the