just in-yer-face with things like, âYou know that Kelly in 5R, the fit one with the tits?â and straight in with the details to whoever was in the way.
He himself had nothing to report as yet, well apart from party snogging and the odd feel, nothing at the Ben-and-Alan level anyway. Not that he
would
report. Heâd decided to be a bloke girls could trust, so that they could all agree when they talked about him and coo to each other, âOh Rory, heâs just so
lovely
â, not a bastard who practically ran his conquestsâ pants up the school flagpole for everyone to snigger at. His way, theyâd like him as a friend, theyâd trust him and know he wasnât just out for what he could get. Also, being A Nice Person, he might pull more of them. Not cynical at all then, he chuckled to himself as he sat down on a damp bench next to where a couple of rooks were efficiently emptying a garbage bin with their beaks.
Rory was starting to feel a bit sick again. It must have been that toast â he should have given the bread a proper look when he got it out of the pack, made sure there werenât any mouldy bits on it. Jay had said she couldnât be responsible for ensuring the bread was inside its sell-by â especially as she wasnât eating it at the moment. Bloody diets. Or it might have been the jam. Sometimes you found stuff at the back of the fridge and it looked like someone was trying to grow their own antibiotics. Lots of the food was still Imogenâs, special sorts of honey that she liked, blueberry jam, lime pickle. She had her own fridge down in the basement, why didnât she move all her poxy food? He hoped sheâd be a bit more germ-free when the baby arrived, otherwise the poor kid wouldnât have a chance.
Holding onto his aching stomach, Rory put his feet up on the bench and stretched out, lying full lengthalong the seat to see if his insides would feel better when they werenât scrunched up. Two of the old park biddies that were always in there gave him a look and a dose of tutting as they went past. They were in full olds-out-walking kit of all-weather woolly crochet hat and tartan scarf, dragging their Scottie dogs that were supposed to be white but looked yellowy round the edges, like snow thatâs been pissed on. He felt worse, if anything, lying down. The biddies would feel sorry for him if they knew; theyâd pat his head and say grandmotherly comfort stuff. He wished he was at home now, groaning miserably in his own bed. The pain in his gut was getting sharper and was there all the time, not just twingeing sometimes like before. Whatever heâd had for breakfast would have to be evicted from the fridge the minute he got home, before everyone in the house got ill and the whole place was declared a deadly disease zone and headlined on the local TV news.
The women had done their circuit of the pond and were coming back for a second round. Youâd think heâd meant to do it, by the look on their faces, the pulling back the dogs and the shudder of disgust like he was some junkie on a downer. After all, you couldnât control the moment when you barfed on the pathway. No-one could, he was willing to bet, not even this outraged pair of old wifeys.
How wonderfully useful it was to have a functioning artisan as part of the family, Jay thought as she drove out to negotiate with Mrs Caldwell, Dishing the Dirtâs serial complainer. How much more handy that Imogen had fallen in love with Tristan the plumber rather than someone such as, for example, a City money trader whose expertise was only in the coffee futures market and how to get a good deal on an Audi TT. When thetime came for career choices to be made by Rory and Ellie she would encourage them firmly away from sit-down office occupations, and try to point them in the direction of carpentry and electrical work. In an area such as this, affluent, educated and devoutly
He himself had nothing to report as yet, well apart from party snogging and the odd feel, nothing at the Ben-and-Alan level anyway. Not that he
would
report. Heâd decided to be a bloke girls could trust, so that they could all agree when they talked about him and coo to each other, âOh Rory, heâs just so
lovely
â, not a bastard who practically ran his conquestsâ pants up the school flagpole for everyone to snigger at. His way, theyâd like him as a friend, theyâd trust him and know he wasnât just out for what he could get. Also, being A Nice Person, he might pull more of them. Not cynical at all then, he chuckled to himself as he sat down on a damp bench next to where a couple of rooks were efficiently emptying a garbage bin with their beaks.
Rory was starting to feel a bit sick again. It must have been that toast â he should have given the bread a proper look when he got it out of the pack, made sure there werenât any mouldy bits on it. Jay had said she couldnât be responsible for ensuring the bread was inside its sell-by â especially as she wasnât eating it at the moment. Bloody diets. Or it might have been the jam. Sometimes you found stuff at the back of the fridge and it looked like someone was trying to grow their own antibiotics. Lots of the food was still Imogenâs, special sorts of honey that she liked, blueberry jam, lime pickle. She had her own fridge down in the basement, why didnât she move all her poxy food? He hoped sheâd be a bit more germ-free when the baby arrived, otherwise the poor kid wouldnât have a chance.
Holding onto his aching stomach, Rory put his feet up on the bench and stretched out, lying full lengthalong the seat to see if his insides would feel better when they werenât scrunched up. Two of the old park biddies that were always in there gave him a look and a dose of tutting as they went past. They were in full olds-out-walking kit of all-weather woolly crochet hat and tartan scarf, dragging their Scottie dogs that were supposed to be white but looked yellowy round the edges, like snow thatâs been pissed on. He felt worse, if anything, lying down. The biddies would feel sorry for him if they knew; theyâd pat his head and say grandmotherly comfort stuff. He wished he was at home now, groaning miserably in his own bed. The pain in his gut was getting sharper and was there all the time, not just twingeing sometimes like before. Whatever heâd had for breakfast would have to be evicted from the fridge the minute he got home, before everyone in the house got ill and the whole place was declared a deadly disease zone and headlined on the local TV news.
The women had done their circuit of the pond and were coming back for a second round. Youâd think heâd meant to do it, by the look on their faces, the pulling back the dogs and the shudder of disgust like he was some junkie on a downer. After all, you couldnât control the moment when you barfed on the pathway. No-one could, he was willing to bet, not even this outraged pair of old wifeys.
How wonderfully useful it was to have a functioning artisan as part of the family, Jay thought as she drove out to negotiate with Mrs Caldwell, Dishing the Dirtâs serial complainer. How much more handy that Imogen had fallen in love with Tristan the plumber rather than someone such as, for example, a City money trader whose expertise was only in the coffee futures market and how to get a good deal on an Audi TT. When thetime came for career choices to be made by Rory and Ellie she would encourage them firmly away from sit-down office occupations, and try to point them in the direction of carpentry and electrical work. In an area such as this, affluent, educated and devoutly
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