Next that huge box of chocolates
Rodney had given her--he was so sweet but was he crazy, thinking she'd
so much as look at a chocolate?
Nerissa left a trail of litter behind her through the house. Even the
flowers toppled out of the vases. Magazines tumbled out of the rack,
handfuls of tissues spilled onto surfaces and under tables, lamps fell
over, glasses broke, and odd bits of jewelry glinted from the carpet pile
and the windowsills. Lynette, who came to clean, was so well paid she
didn't mind. She went about the house, picking everything up, admiring
a ring here, a bottle of scent there, and if she was at home, Nerissa
would give it to her.
It was raining, the heavy crashing rain of summer. Nerissa put on her
white shiny raincoat over her silk shift and leapt into the car with her
champagne and her chocolates, her wet umbrella-white and with a
picture of the seafront at Nice on it--slung onto the backseat. She
stopped in Holland Park on adouble yellow line to buy flowers for her
mum, orchids and arum lilies, roses and funny green things the florist
couldn't identify. Luck was with her, as it usually was. All the wardens
were indoors watching Casualty on TV: She was going to be late--when
wasn't she?--but Dad wouldn't mind. He liked eating closer to nine than
eight.
They lived in Acton, in a street of semidetached mock-Tudor houses,
theirs with an extra bedroom over the garage. Nerissa and her brothers
had grown up there, gone to the local schools, visited the local cinema,
and shopped at the localshops. Both of her brothers were older than
Nerissa and both were now married. When she started to make a lot of
money, she had wanted to buy her parents a house near her own,
perhaps a smart cottage in fashionable Pottery Lane, but they would
have none of it. They liked Acton. They liked their neighbors and the
neighborhood and their big garden. All their friends lived nearby and
they were staying put. Besides, her father had made three ponds in his
garden, one in the front and two in the back, and filled them with
goldfish. Where in Pottery Lane would he be able to have three ponds or
even one? And the goldfish were very active tonight, enjoying the rain.
It was her father who answered the door. Nerissa threw her arms
around him, then around her mother, presented her gifts. These were, as
always, received rapturously. She never touched alcohol, she drank
bottled water, but now she accepted with pleasure a large cup of
Yorkshire tea. You could get very fed up with water thrust at you
wherever you went. Her mum always announced dinner in the same way,
and uttered it in an atrocious French accent. Nerissa would have
wondered what waswrong if she had deviated from this practice.
"Mademoiselle est servie. "
She only ate food like this when she went to her parents' house. The
rest of the time she picked at grapefruit and Japanese rice crackers at
home or green salad in restaurants. It was a miracle, she sometimes
thought, that her insides could weather with no ill effects the shock of
digesting thick soup, rolls and butter, roast meat and potatoes, batter
pudding, and Brussels sprouts. Her mother thought this was her normal
diet.
"My daughter can eat as much as she likes," she told friends.
"She never puts on a scrap of weight."
When they had reached the apple charlotte and baked Alaska stage of
the meal, Nerissa asked her mother about their neighbors. These people
were great friends, as close as cousins.
"Fine, I think," her mother said. "I haven't seen much of them for a few
days. Sheila's got a new job, I do know that---oh, and Bill's got the allclear from the hospital."
"That's good. " Nerissa trod warily. "And the son? He's stil lliving at
home?"
"Darel?" her dad said. "Such a nice well-mannered boy. He's still at
home, but Sheila told me he's buying a flat in Docklands. Time to move
on, he says."
Nerissa was unsure whether this was good news for her or bad. While
she
Rodney had given her--he was so sweet but was he crazy, thinking she'd
so much as look at a chocolate?
Nerissa left a trail of litter behind her through the house. Even the
flowers toppled out of the vases. Magazines tumbled out of the rack,
handfuls of tissues spilled onto surfaces and under tables, lamps fell
over, glasses broke, and odd bits of jewelry glinted from the carpet pile
and the windowsills. Lynette, who came to clean, was so well paid she
didn't mind. She went about the house, picking everything up, admiring
a ring here, a bottle of scent there, and if she was at home, Nerissa
would give it to her.
It was raining, the heavy crashing rain of summer. Nerissa put on her
white shiny raincoat over her silk shift and leapt into the car with her
champagne and her chocolates, her wet umbrella-white and with a
picture of the seafront at Nice on it--slung onto the backseat. She
stopped in Holland Park on adouble yellow line to buy flowers for her
mum, orchids and arum lilies, roses and funny green things the florist
couldn't identify. Luck was with her, as it usually was. All the wardens
were indoors watching Casualty on TV: She was going to be late--when
wasn't she?--but Dad wouldn't mind. He liked eating closer to nine than
eight.
They lived in Acton, in a street of semidetached mock-Tudor houses,
theirs with an extra bedroom over the garage. Nerissa and her brothers
had grown up there, gone to the local schools, visited the local cinema,
and shopped at the localshops. Both of her brothers were older than
Nerissa and both were now married. When she started to make a lot of
money, she had wanted to buy her parents a house near her own,
perhaps a smart cottage in fashionable Pottery Lane, but they would
have none of it. They liked Acton. They liked their neighbors and the
neighborhood and their big garden. All their friends lived nearby and
they were staying put. Besides, her father had made three ponds in his
garden, one in the front and two in the back, and filled them with
goldfish. Where in Pottery Lane would he be able to have three ponds or
even one? And the goldfish were very active tonight, enjoying the rain.
It was her father who answered the door. Nerissa threw her arms
around him, then around her mother, presented her gifts. These were, as
always, received rapturously. She never touched alcohol, she drank
bottled water, but now she accepted with pleasure a large cup of
Yorkshire tea. You could get very fed up with water thrust at you
wherever you went. Her mum always announced dinner in the same way,
and uttered it in an atrocious French accent. Nerissa would have
wondered what waswrong if she had deviated from this practice.
"Mademoiselle est servie. "
She only ate food like this when she went to her parents' house. The
rest of the time she picked at grapefruit and Japanese rice crackers at
home or green salad in restaurants. It was a miracle, she sometimes
thought, that her insides could weather with no ill effects the shock of
digesting thick soup, rolls and butter, roast meat and potatoes, batter
pudding, and Brussels sprouts. Her mother thought this was her normal
diet.
"My daughter can eat as much as she likes," she told friends.
"She never puts on a scrap of weight."
When they had reached the apple charlotte and baked Alaska stage of
the meal, Nerissa asked her mother about their neighbors. These people
were great friends, as close as cousins.
"Fine, I think," her mother said. "I haven't seen much of them for a few
days. Sheila's got a new job, I do know that---oh, and Bill's got the allclear from the hospital."
"That's good. " Nerissa trod warily. "And the son? He's stil lliving at
home?"
"Darel?" her dad said. "Such a nice well-mannered boy. He's still at
home, but Sheila told me he's buying a flat in Docklands. Time to move
on, he says."
Nerissa was unsure whether this was good news for her or bad. While
she
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