The Art of Friendship (5 page)

‘Sorry, I have to do my homework,’ said Izzy with a sly sideways glance, the end of the pencil back in her mouth. Clare could’ve swung for her. She’d sat at the table for a full forty minutes and not written a thing. Now that Clare was under pressure she was refusing to help, and cutting her nose off to spite her face, simply to get at her stepmother.

‘Right,’ said Clare. She picked up the melamine bowl and threw it forcefully in the stainless steel sink. ‘You do that then.’ Her voice came out cold and brittle like thin ice. She found a cloth under the sink and started to wipe down the wall.

‘Where’s Dad?’ said Izzy sharply, after a few minutes had passed. Her voice was accusing. As though it were Clare’s fault that Liam wasn’t here.

‘You know he’s been held up at work, Izzy,’ said Clare irritably from a crouched position under the table, panting with the exertion of wiping the chair legs. ‘You know he would be here if he could.’

‘What’s the point of me coming on a Wednesday if he can’t even be bothered to be here? The whole point is so that we can spend some time together.’

‘And see your brother and sister.’

‘They’re
not
my brother and sister.’

‘Alright, stepbrother and -sister then,’ said Clare, seething. She added sharply, ‘I thought you said you had homework to do?’

Izzy did not reply. Instead she smiled to herself, inserted the iPod earpieces in her ears and, miraculously, started to write in her jotter. Clare glared at her, but Izzy was now entirely engaged in scribbling furiously away. She had allowed Izzy to rattle her cage and Izzy knew it. One-nil to Izzy.

By the time Zoe rang the doorbell at eight o’clock, Clare was standing in the bedroom in her underwear – bra, pants and pair of black knee-socks. Both Rachel and Josh were settled in bed and Clare had managed to shower, wash and dry her hair and apply make-up. She heard the front door open and close and then Zoe’s sharp voice drifted up the stairs. ‘What? He’s not home yet? Have you been sitting down here all on your own?’

Clare came out of the bedroom and stood on the landing, out of sight, listening.

‘Yes,’ said Izzy, sounding sorry for herself. ‘Clare took Rachel and Josh upstairs just after six and she hasn’t come down yet. I was left downstairs on my own watching TV.’

‘Get your coat. I’m taking you home.’

Clare wasn’t going to let Izzy get away with that. She ran back into the bedroom, grabbed the first dressing gown that came to hand and pulled it on. The belt was missing but there was no time to change. She wrapped the gown around her body, held it in place with her hands and marched down the stairs.

Zoe stood at the bottom, scowling, her lips pursed up like a prune. When she saw Clare coming, she folded her arms aggressively. She was dressed entirely in designer black with polished high-heeled boots and a bold silver necklace resting on a fine cashmere polo. Her long blonde hair flowed over an open black leather jacket. As usual, she looked skinny and stunning and successful. Which she was – Zoe owned three boutiques in as many towns. Izzy, looking sheepish, pulled a coat on over her slight shoulders.

‘Izzy decided not to help with bathtime tonight,’ said Clare by way of greeting, pulling herself up to her full height in what she hoped was an assertive manner. And then, giving her stepdaughter a hard stare, she added, ‘She had homework to do. Didn’t you, Izzy?’

Izzy looked at the floor and, though she said nothing, at least she had the grace to blush. Not that Zoe was watching. She was too busy staring at Clare – her cold, critical gaze took in the entire length of her body from head to toe and back again in three seconds flat.

‘And hello to you too, Clare,’ she said pointedly.

‘I’m getting ready to go out,’ said Clare, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage. She pulled the gown closer to her body and, looking down at herself, realised what a sight she was. A white toe sporting an unpainted yellow nail poked through a hole in the sock on her right foot. She curled her toes in
embarrassment. The dressing gown was an old grey flannel one of Liam’s. She remembered now that Josh had ripped the belt off by swinging on it. Clare kept meaning to sew it back on but had somehow never got round to it. She pulled the gown closer and felt her face go red.

‘Somewhere nice?’ said Zoe.

‘Just No.11 with some girlfriends.’

‘Well’ Zoe.’s pale blue eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you’re not relying on Liam to babysit. God knows when he’ll be home. Used to do it to me all the time.’

Clare’s anger was now directed at Liam as much as Zoe and Izzy. Not only had he left her with both of the little ones to put to bed when he knew she was due to go out, but he had placed her in this mortifying situation with Zoe. He should be here to deal with his ex-wife and he should’ve been here for Izzy.

Just then the front door opened, letting in an icy blast of dry air, and Zoe said, clearly enjoying herself, ‘Speak of the devil.’

Liam stepped into the hallway, his overcoat opened to reveal a top shirt button undone and his tie askew. His briefcase hit the floor with a heavy thud and he slammed the door closed. He rubbed his hands together, blew into them and looked at the faces of the three females in the hall, each one, for different reasons, glowering at him.

‘Oh, Izzy,’ he said and went to put his arms around her. She stiffened and pulled back.

‘Where were you, Dad?’ she said, sounding pained.

‘I’m so sorry, babes,’ said Liam, and his arms dropped to his sides. His boyish face was lined and tired-looking. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gave Izzy a crooked smile. Clare was torn between being angry with him and wanting to hug him. ‘You’ll never believe what happened,’
he said animatedly. ‘I was in the car park just about to get in the car when this spaceship landed right next to me and guess who stepped out?’

‘Dad…’ said Izzy warningly, without a hint of a smile.

‘Okay,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I couldn’t get away. I tried, but this thing in work blew up and…well, I just couldn’t leave.’

‘Couldn’t you?’ said Zoe, her voice laden with scorn. ‘You only have Izzy one night a week, Liam. Is it too much to ask that you organise your diary around that?’

‘It’s not always that simple, Zoe,’ Liam muttered. ‘Sometimes it’s complicated. You know that.’

‘It’s not rocket science either,’ snapped Zoe.

Clare had to bite her lip. How dare Zoe speak to him like that! And why did he take it from her? She treated him like dirt and he let her.

‘Let’s not bicker about it,’ said Liam, with a glance at Izzy. He was always the one to back down, always the one placating Zoe.

Zoe turned her attention to Izzy and said brightly, ‘We really need to be getting home now.’ She placed a proprietorial hand on the small of her daughter’s back and said in a wheedling tone, ‘Did you get something to eat, pet?’

‘Beans on toast,’ mumbled Izzy.

‘That was what she said she…’ began Clare, but Zoe talked over her.

‘Never mind, darling,’ she tutted. ‘We’ll get you something decent to eat when we get you home. Excuse me,’ she said, this last icy comment directed at Liam. He stepped out of her way and she opened the front door. Izzy ducked her head against the wall of cold and pulled her coat tighter around her.

‘I’m so sorry, Izzy,’ said Liam as Zoe propelled their daughter through the door. ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he called out, but Zoe had already slammed the door in his face. Liam sighed again and traced around his eye sockets with the middle finger of both hands.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said.

Clare was angry about so many things she didn’t know where to start.

‘Did you hear her?’ she demanded. ‘Implying that I didn’t feed Izzy properly. She refused to eat the casserole I made. She
asked
for baked beans on toast.’

Liam shrugged. ‘All she did was ask Izzy what she had to eat. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.’

‘You never see, do you, Liam?’ said Clare. ‘You take everything Zoe says at face value. That was a pointed remark aimed at me.’

‘It’s not worth getting worked up about, Clare.’ Liam hung his coat on the hat stand. ‘You shouldn’t let her come between us.’

‘You
let her come between us. I don’t know why you ever divorced Zoe and married me. All she does is insult me and all you do is defend her.’

‘Hey,’ he said, raising his hands in the air, palms facing outwards towards Clare. His usually mild demeanour was gone, and an angry look flashed across his features. ‘That’s really not fair.’

Clare blushed, knowing that she had gone a step too far but, now on a roll, she could not stop. ‘You’re intimidated by her, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not intimidated by Zoe. I just prefer not to be confrontational with her.’

‘But you let her walk all over you. And in front of Izzy.’

‘That’s the way you see it.’

‘That’s the way it is.’

Liam sighed again. ‘I prefer not to argue with Zoe in front of Izzy. Listen, Clare, Zoe has problems. She’s on her own and life’s not easy for her. She doesn’t have many friends and I still feel guilty about leaving her. I guess I feel sorry for her. I wish you would show a bit of compassion too.’

‘Compassion?’ Clare nearly choked on the word. ‘You want me to show compassion to Zoe? Liam, in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s a…a first-class bitch.’ The last words sounded common, harsh, unkind.

‘That’s enough now,’ he said sharply and Clare bit her lip, annoyed with herself. She’d lost the moral high ground and deflected the argument away from her main gripe – that Liam did not do enough to defend her against Zoe’s persistent, insidious put-downs. ‘Look,’ he added, in a conciliatory tone, ‘I’m just trying to keep the peace, Clare. I’ve had a rotten day.’

‘Well, so have I thanks to you. And don’t you ever do this to me again,’ said Clare, remembering just in time that wagging a finger at Liam would necessitate letting go of the dressing gown, making her look even more ridiculous than she already did. Instead, she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

‘What?’ said Liam.

‘Come home at this time when you know I’m supposed to be going out. How often do I go out with the girls, Liam? Once or twice a month? Is it too much to ask you to be home on time just this once?’

‘Clare, that’s unreasonable. If I could’ve been here earlier, I would’ve been. You know that.’ He ran his hand over his face. ‘I’ve had a hellish day.’

‘And to leave me with Izzy as well.’

‘Sure, Izzy’s no bother,’ said Liam.

‘She’s a little madam, Liam,’ snapped Clare. ‘When you’re about she’s all sweetness and light and when you’re not she’s a complete pain. Like tonight.’

‘What did she do that was so awful?’

‘She…she refused to help bath the kids.’

‘Well, to be fair, that’s not really her job, Clare.’ Liam raised his eyebrows, and cocked his head to one side the way he did when he thought she was being unreasonable. This infuriated Clare even more.

‘You don’t understand. The kitchen was a mess – Rachel had spilt baked beans everywhere,’ said Clare, waving her hands about in an agitated fashion. The dressing gown gaped open. She snatched it shut, gripping the collar of the gown under her chin. ‘ asked for her help and she refused just out of spite. And then she was making out to Zoe just now that I’d left her downstairs all on her own when it was her choice.’

Liam shook his head, not really listening. ‘Clare, I’m sorry but I just don’t have time for this right now. I’m only just through the door,’ he said, consulting his watch, ‘and you were supposed to be at No.11 ten minutes ago. Look, why don’t you go and finish getting ready and we can finish this conversation another time?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Clare flatly, torn between the desire to pursue the argument, and the desire to meet her friends before the evening was ruined. She suddenly noticed that Liam looked exhausted and guilt diluted her anger. ‘Why don’t you go and get something to eat?’ she suggested, softening. ‘There’s a casserole in the oven and a crusty loaf in the bread bin.’

‘I will, thanks, love.’

‘What was so awful about your day?’ said Clare.

‘Oh, the usual. Office politics. You don’t want to know.’

He was right – she didn’t. And she conveniently interpreted this as meaning that he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I’m sorry for going on about Zoe.’

‘It’s alright. I know what she’s like. Believe me, I’d rather battle Boadicea than Zoe any day.’

Clare giggled. Liam looked at her from under a cocked eyebrow and the corners of his mouth turned up in one of his irresistible smiles. ‘But have I told you that you look very fetching in that ensemble?’ he said. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘I always think a woman looks very sexy in her man’s clothes,’ he breathed into her ear.

‘Not in this old thing!’ said Clare, looking down at the dressing gown and smiling. ‘I’m buying you a new one and this one’s going straight in the bin!’

‘Go on, then,’ he said, patting her bottom. ‘You’d better get yourself ready before I ravish you!’

Clare ran up the stairs, giggling, and remembered that Liam’s ability to make her laugh was the reason she had fallen in love with him in the first place.

By the time she finally made it to No.11, Clare was half an hour late. No.11 was a small bistro housed in the front of a former hotel on Quality Street. The rest of the hotel had long since been turned into apartments. The original sash windows had been replaced by concertina floor-to-ceiling ones that were pulled back in the summer months and tables placed on the sunlit pavement outside, continental style.

Tonight, though, the windows were firmly shut against the bitter January night. The room was warmly decorated in stylish shades of brown and strategically placed lamps cast pools of warm yellow light on the artfully worn wooden floor. Clare headed over to the table by the window occupied by Janice, Kirsty and Patsy. They were all cosily dressed in trousers, warm jumpers and boots, in marked contrast to their party-wear of a few weeks ago.

‘Come and sit down, Clare,’ said Patsy, patting the seat of the remaining unoccupied brown-leather chair. ‘We wondered where you’d got to.’

Clare greeted everyone with a kiss, sat down and apologised for being late.

Janice, who was, as always, immaculately dressed in a pink cashmere v-neck with grey check trousers, said, ‘What’re you drinking?’

‘White, please.’

‘I’m having soda water and lime,’ said Patsy rather proudly, raising her glass up for inspection. ‘I’m on a detox.’

Janice tutted and said, ‘Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts. Last year you managed five whole days.’

‘Cheeky cow!’ exclaimed Patsy, and lifted her nose in the air in mock indignation.

The others laughed and Clare said, ‘Well, I could certainly do with a glass of wine. Especially after the day I’ve had.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ said Janice and she floated off to the small bar at the far end of the room. The only member of staff on duty was Danny – all five foot seven inches of him. With his short, spiky blond hair and cherubic face he looked like a boy trying to be a man, even though he was well into his twenties.

‘Well,’ said Janice once she had returned from the bar, set two very large glasses of white wine in front of herself and Clare, and settled down in the chair opposite. ‘Tell us all about it, darling.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Clare, took a long slug of wine and immediately felt herself relax. She set the glass on a coaster. ‘It all started at teatime,’ she began, and the women listened attentively as she related the day’s events.

‘You poor thing,’ said Kirsty when Clare had finished. She put her hand on Clare’s knee and left it there – an act of solidarity. Kirsty’s propensity to touch still caught Clare off-guard sometimes. Like now. She sat there feeling slightly uncomfortable and sorry for herself, fighting back tears, feeling both foolish and annoyed for letting Zoe wind her up so much.

‘That Zoe Campbell,’ said Janice, ‘is a right cow. You shouldn’t have to put up with her.’

‘I don’t have any choice,’ said Clare miserably. ‘Because of
Izzy. Sometimes she drives me up the wall but she is only a kid after all. I don’t really blame her.’

‘No, I blame Zoe,’ said Patsy firmly, folding her arms across her motherly bosom. ‘She’s poisoned Izzy’s mind against you. And I bet the wee thing’s too scared to go against that witch of a mother.’

‘Mmm,’ said Clare, thinking that her friends had a point. Zoe
had
forced Izzy to take sides. ‘It’s just so disappointing,’ she went on. ‘I so wanted Izzy and I to have a good relationship – for my own sake as much as Liam’s. I didn’t realise how hard it would be to make this family work.’

‘It’s not your fault, Clare,’ said Kirsty in her thoughtful, measured way. ‘Stepfamilies are never plain sailing. You just have to accept that you can’t make it perfect.’

Perceptively, Kirsty had pinpointed the primary cause of Clare’s grief – her desire to have the perfect family. She’d come to Ballyfergus to escape her hometown of Omagh where she’d been raised, an only child, by parents who fought all the time, mainly over money. Clare had not forgiven them for her lonely, miserable childhood and, even now, she rarely saw them or spoke to them on the phone. Clare felt the tears threaten to sting again. For, try as she might, she could not ‘fix’ Zoe, or Izzy, and she found that failure hard to accept.

‘We’ve been married five and a half years now. I’ve known Izzy since she was seven and, if anything, things between us are worse than ever.’ She plucked at a loose thread on her black wool slacks.

‘She’s at a difficult age, Clare,’ said Patsy, nodding her head vigorously. ‘All twelve-year-old girls are a nightmare. It will get better. Honestly.’ Patsy was an authority on the subject, having raised two daughters of her own, but Clare remained unconvinced. She hid her scepticism by putting the glass to her lips and taking another long, welcome drink of wine.

She believed that Izzy had resented her from the day they met and would never forgive her for marrying Liam. She suspected Izzy still harboured dreams of her parents getting back together. Zoe was still single and, from what Clare could gather, hadn’t had a serious relationship since splitting up with Liam. Perhaps if she met someone who made her happy, it would assuage some of her anger towards Clare – and Liam…

‘At the end of the day, Clare,’ said Janice, holding out her upturned hand as if offering Clare the gift of her wisdom, ‘it’s Zoe who has the problem, not you.’

‘If it was just Zoe, I could cope with that,’ said Clare. She realised she was picking at the hangnail on her left index finger. She squeezed her hands together in an effort to stop. ‘I don’t have to see her. But Izzy spends a lot of time at our house.’

‘Have you tried talking to Liam, sweetheart?’ asked Patsy. She leant forwards, her hands clasped together between her knees, unconsciously pushing her breasts together. The low cowl neck of her grey mohair jumper revealed a handsome cleavage.

Clare put a hand on her own chest and gave a hollow laugh. ‘He thinks I’m being paranoid. When she’s around Liam, Izzy’s perfectly pleasant. But when she’s with me she’s quite different. Rude and uncooperative. Like tonight.’

‘And what does Liam have to say about all this?’ said Kirsty. ‘She’s his daughter, after all.’

Clare shrugged. ‘I don’t think he really understands. When I report the things Izzy’s said, or done, he argues that she’s just being a normal teenager. I don’t know. Maybe he’s right,’ she said and Patsy nodded.

‘It’s just a stage. It’ll pass,’ she agreed confidently. ‘You’ll see.’

There was a long pause and then Kirsty brought a welcome change of subject. ‘What about your plan to get back to painting, Clare? How’s it going?’

Clare let out a long breath. ‘It’s not.’

There was a collective sigh of empathy from her friends.

‘Why not?’ said Patsy.

‘I tried a few times but the problem is that I don’t have anywhere to paint. Not somewhere dedicated anyway. I set my easel up in the study but it’s just not working out. There’s not enough space and Liam needs to be in there to work, so I have to clear my stuff away every time I finish. I’m only able to paint in snatches – an hour here and there because of the children – so it’s completely impractical to keep tidying the room. And the floor’s carpeted so I’m paranoid about staining it. It’s very frustrating.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Patsy and she frowned, thinking. ‘If I can come up with anywhere…’

‘I know!’ cried Janice, interrupting. ‘What about Keith’s study?’

‘Keith’s study?’ said Clare.

‘Yes. You know the way he got that old garage in the garden converted a few years ago. He had this idea that he would work from home a couple of days a week. Of course that didn’t work out as planned.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ said Clare, her hopes rising. Janice had shown her the study a couple of years ago, just after the conversion. It was a large, north-facing room with floor-to-ceiling windows installed in place of the old garage doors. It sat in the grounds of Janice’s house, fifty yards or so from the back door. Clare set her drink on the table and sat on the edge of the chair.

‘Why don’t you use that? The floor’s stone so you wouldn’t need to worry about carpet stains.’ Janice became more
animated as she went on. ‘There’s heating and light and even a toilet. And do you remember the tiny kitchen in the back with a sink and a kettle?’

Clare nodded excitedly. It could almost have been designed as an artist’s studio.

‘It’s got everything you need. In fact,’ said Janice, with a childlike clap of her manicured hands, ‘it’s absolutely perfect. Why didn’t I think of it before?’

‘Oh, Janice. It sounds wonderful,’ said Clare. It was the answer to her prayers – but one that was beyond her reach. ‘But I don’t think I could afford to rent just now.’

‘Who said anything about rent?’ cried Janice, her eyes ablaze with excitement. ‘I don’t want anything for it. Sure, it’s lying there empty. And we’re paying for the heating anyway so that it doesn’t get damp.’

‘But won’t Keith want to use it?’

‘No. I can’t remember the last time he was even in there,’ said Janice. ‘If he ever does the odd bit of work from home, he uses the study in the house. There’s nothing in the office but a dusty desk and an old office chair. To be honest, Clare, I’d rather see it used than lying empty.’

‘Why, Janice,’ said Clare, and she paused for a moment, lost for words. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She put the cool flat of her palms against her hot cheeks. The pessimist in her found it hard to believe what she was hearing.

‘All you have to say is “yes”,’ said Janice.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Clare, searching in the faces of the others for affirmation that she wasn’t imagining things. Patsy and Kirsty were all smiles.

‘My own studio. It’s a dream come true. I can’t thank you enough,’ said Clare, ‘I really can’t.’ She fought to hold back tears of gratitude brought on by Janice’s largesse.

‘I’ve always fancied being a patron of the arts,’ said Janice.
‘And now you can help me become one. I have high hopes for you, Clare McCormack!’

‘I hope I don’t let you down,’ said Clare. Her stomach made a sound and she placed a hand on her solid belly, tight with excitement and nerves.

‘You won’t,’ said Janice firmly. ‘Now come round first thing in the morning and I’ll give you the keys.’

Clare swallowed. ‘I really don’t know what to say. You don’t realise what this means to me.’

‘I think I’ve a fair idea,’ laughed Janice.

‘I am so very blessed in you,’ said Clare, holding her right hand over her heart. She closed her eyes momentarily, opened them, and looked at each of the three women in turn. ‘So very blessed to have you as my friends. All of you.’

The women exchanged happy glances and there was a long, not entirely comfortable, silence. Kirsty’s high cheek-bones went red and Clare wondered if any of them realised just how much their friendship meant to her. In spite of the differences between them, they were the sisters – the family – she had never had growing up.

A little later, Clare, realising that they had talked about nothing but her for the last half hour, said, ‘What about everyone else’s New Year’s resolutions? How are you getting on?’

‘Kirsty’s got something to report,’ said Janice, with a mischievous smile and a glance at Kirsty. ‘She’s been on a date.’

Immediately Kirsty felt her cheeks burn even brighter. She did not like to be the centre of attention, preferring to be an observer. Even among her dearest friends she was quiet and reserved.

‘Of course! How did it go?’ demanded Patsy, crossing her legs and settling into the chair to listen, her glass balanced on her knee.

‘Do I have to?’ pleaded Kirsty, recalling the evening with discomfort. It had been a disaster but not one that she was ready to laugh at just yet.

‘Yes!’ the others chorused.

‘Oh, okay then. Well, you all know we went to Alloro.’ Alloro was a posh Italian restaurant on the High Street Kirsty had never been to. ‘The food was very good,’ she said. ‘I had…’

‘For God’s sake, we don’t want to hear about the food,’ tutted Patsy, waving her hand dismissively in the air. ‘What about the date?’

‘Well, he was a lawyer friend of Keith’s.’

‘Oh, a
lawyer
no less,’ said Patsy playfully, pretending to be impressed.

‘So. What was he like?’ said Clare gently, ignoring Patsy’s teasing.

Kirsty thought back to the moment she’d first seen Robert and the pool of disappointment that had settled in her stomach. His dishwater-grey eyes had stared out at her from behind thick glasses – strangely, he’d hardly blinked, reminding her of a goldfish. His dark hair was thinning slightly on top and his smile was reserved, as though he was holding something of himself back. It had the unfortunate effect of making him appear as though he felt himself superior.

‘Average really. Average height, well built,’ said Kirsty, picking her words with care, not wanting to be unkind and reminding herself that she couldn’t afford to be choosy at her age. The pool of available men clearly had its limitations.

‘You mean heavy,’ corrected Clare.

‘No, he wasn’t heavy. Just, you know, solid.’ He had, in fact, one of those stocky, thick-necked builds that could so easily go to fat. Kirsty preferred men who were fit and lean.

Clare looked at Patsy, put her hand up to her mouth and said in a loud, theatrical aside, ‘Fat.’

Patsy grinned and said, ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of beef on a man. But more to the point, did you like him?’

‘Mmm, not really,’ admitted Kirsty. ‘He ignored me most of the night.’

Janice nodded in agreement and Clare said, with a cross frown, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly that,’ said Kirsty, the annoyance she had felt that night rekindled. She put her arms around herself and gave herself a hug. ‘He spent more time talking to Keith than me and Janice put together. He wasn’t interested in a date. Not with me anyway. At one point I turned to speak to him and Robert actually put his elbow on the table, like this,’ she demonstrated, ‘so that I was totally excluded from the conversation he was having with Keith. And then he cut me dead when I was telling him why I didn’t like lamb. Isn’t that right, Janice?’

Patsy and Clare looked at Janice.