As requested, Dora hopped and Jo drove in. The climbing rose up the side of the house was just coming into bloom and summer shimmered on the threshold, about to descend into her full glory.
Jo noticed the rose and wondered, as she always did, why yellow roses were always the first to bloom. Then she noticed a planter. It was a miniature wheelbarrow full of brightly coloured primulas, egg-yellow, shocking pink and mauve. Jo loved old fashioned polyanthus, with their wonderful, old-fashioned names, and there was a bank under a hedge that was starred with wild primroses in the spring, but she didn't like these artificial hybrids. She wasn't keen on miniature wheelbarrows, either.
‘Come on, let's go in,' she said to Dora after a moment, and then got out of the car.
There was an arrangement of silk flowers on the hall table. Jo had always had something real there, even if it was only twigs with a few optimistic buds. Of course, silk flowers could be very pretty and they didn't need atten tion, they didn't drop or die or run out of water. She glanced at the mixture of blooms, which wouldn't have been flowering together naturally, and passed on.
‘Let's go into the kitchen.’
As she stood on the threshold she was overcome with despair. All the feelings of loss and abandonment that she thought she'd got over came welling up as she saw theroom that had been the heart of her home. It had changed from a farmhouse-style centre of comfort and pleasure to a hotpotch of styles that was more like a showroom than a working kitchen.
The table under the window was made of stainless steel, with two spindly-legged chairs under it. It was round and tiny, only big enough for a couple. Jo had had a solid pine table, scarred by the years and used for everything, for rolling out pastry, for sticking and pasting, for Karen's and often Dora's homework. Her favourite sort of dinner party happened there too.
Now she turned to where once her Rayburn had been the source of so much warmth and nourishment ever since they'd moved into the house, over twenty years ago. It had been replaced by a range cooker, but one disguised as a real range. It had matt-black doors and there were covers to the burners; Jo half expected to see fake flames flickering through a mica panel, like something on a stage set. Over the top of this black and silver monster were stencils of cornflowers and poppies.
‘I suppose stencils have come in again,' said Dora, peering at them closely. 'They're not very well done. I wonder if she did the cupboard doors as well?’
The cupboard doors were also decorated with some sort of paint effect. 'I think that's dragging,' said Jo. 'I remember reading about it.'
‘It's awful,' said Dora. 'If the Floosie did it, she's not very handy with a paintbrush.'
‘No,' said Jo. 'Dora, would you mind if I went outside for a moment? I need to get my head together. I think coming back was a bit of a mistake. Why don't you rummage round in the attic and see if you can find those tapes of you and Karen?’
Jo sat on a bench in the garden, the back part of which was as yet unchanged. Reality had hit her in the face and she needed to recover. When she'd first left Philip and gone to live on the barge she'd felt in charge, pro-active, but although she knew she was leaving the home she'd created over the years and the husband she'd had for nearly thirty, she hadn't really taken in that those things were gone for ever.
‘I should have stayed,' she muttered. 'I shouldn't have left my house. I made it.' Every stick of furniture she had either bought or restored or loved into usefulness. Now her kitchen table was exchanged for a spindly metal monstrosity and her lovely Rayburn, nurturer of every thing from people to kittens, was replaced by a fake version of itself. It was horrible.
A tear slid down her cheek and as she brushed it away she forced herself out of her pit of grief. This was not the way forward; she couldn't afford the indulgence. She'd done her weeping, her raging, now she had to live.
She took a deep breath, got up and went to find Dora.
Jo found her in the sitting room. French windows looked out onto the garden via a large paved area. The garden beyond was beginning to look glorious.
Dora remembered that Jo used to spend a lot of time gardening and thought she probably had very mixed feelings looking at it now.
‘Nice patio furniture,' said Dora.
‘Yes. Shall we take it? We could put it on deck. It would be nice to have something to sit on.'
‘Would it go in the car?'
‘Probably not, and you're right, we can't take anything I haven't arranged to take.'
‘I never said that!' Dora protested.
‘I know, but you thought it. Let's go and find my clothes. He knows I'm taking those. Also the biggest saucepan and my omelette pan. They'd be useful for the trip to Holland… for whoever is going. Did you find those tapes?'
‘Yes, they're in my bag. And you mustn't forget Karen's certificate, although you could definitely take more than that,' said Dora, relieved that Jo wasn't going to do what would feel very like stealing.
‘I'll get it now. It's in a file in that little bureau.' Jo crossed the room to the little piece of furniture she had saved for ages to buy. 'I've no idea why Philip couldn't find it.' She opened the front of the desk and a lot of bits of paper fell out. Jo made herself laugh – it was better than crying. 'See! Perfectly easy – put my hand right on it.’
To Dora's amazement, Jo did have her hand on a pale mauve folder with 'Valuable Documents' written on it.
‘I hate to think I'm not being supportive,' said Dora, 'but I think I might not have found that straightaway.' Chuckling, Jo extracted Karen's certificate.
‘I'll take that for you,' said Dora, who still had her bag slung round her neck.
‘Thank you. Now, let's go and find a drink of water. I'm suddenly dreadfully thirsty.'
‘It's probably stress,' said Dora.
‘It's summer!' said Jo, not wanting to acknowledge her feelings even if Dora was meaning to be kind.
They went into the kitchen and Jo found glasses and filled them from the big American-style fridge that had a water dispenser.
‘We would have loved this when we were little, Karen and me,' said Dora, doing the same. 'Oh look, it does crushed ice. We could have played cocktail bars.'
‘I like cocktails,' said Jo. 'Do you want some more water?'
‘I'm fine for now.'
‘Come on then, let's hit the bedroom.’
Dora had no way of knowing how much had changed when they got upstairs but judging by Jo's expression the bed hadn't been covered in fluffy toys when she had had it.
‘So what do they do when they want to get in at night? Take them all off, I suppose,' said Jo. 'I wonder what Philip thinks about all this?’
Dora found herself wandering over to the dressing table, which was antique and very pretty. 'Was this yours?'
‘Yes. It was my mother's. I will take it back when I've got a house. It's got glass on it, and so shouldn't get damaged if the Floosie spills her nail varnish. Golly, I've changed since I last looked in a decent mirror.' Jo laughed. 'I need a haircut!’
Dora came up behind her. 'I remember me and Karen going through your make-up, trying it on. Were you furious?'
‘I don't remember if I ever found out. You couldn't have done much damage with it.'
‘There was a lipstick that got broken.’
Jo laughed again. 'Oh yes. Very bright red. It stayed on the towels forever. I had to dye them in the end.’
Dora was abashed. 'I'm so sorry! What a pain!'
‘Not at all. I was into dyeing at the time. Right, now, which cupboard did he say?' She opened one of the fitted cupboards, then another, until they were all open. 'Well, they're not here. Where are they?' She took out a hanger with a rectangle of black leather hanging on it. 'The Floosie must be tiny.'
‘Haven't you met her?’
Jo shook her head. 'Philip wanted to show me a picture on his phone, but I didn't want to look. He said she's justlike I was when young. I didn't want to see the difference to how I am now.'
‘You're lovely now.'
‘I was never that size,' she said, putting the rectangle back. 'OK, let's go and see if my clothes are in the spare room. Oh,' she said a moment or two later when they had crossed the landing. 'This is so boring. I had such lovely paper in here, it was quirky and fun. Now it's just -chintzy. I don't know why, but I never like having matching wallpaper, curtains and bed linen and this has got just too many roses.'
‘I'm not sure I'm that keen, either,' said Dora. 'In fact, Samantha – is that her name? – seems to have quite retro tastes. Are these your clothes, do you think? In these bin liners?’
Jo appeared to take her possessions being stuffed into bags like so much jumble quite calmly. She opened one. 'Yes. I must say, as I had taken all my winter clothes, I do think she could have left these in the wardrobe.’
Dora pulled out a sundress. 'They're awfully crushed. Is there an ironing board on the boat?'
‘Don't think so. I haven't really needed one up until now. I used to have a wonderful woman who did my ironing for me. She was brilliant at it and did it all in about five minutes.' She lapsed into silence and when she spoke again she sounded tired. 'Still, I suppose you wouldn't really want to see the first wife's clothes hanging there every time you open a cupboard door.'
‘You're being awfully reasonable,' said Dora. 'I'd go ballistic if I found all my clothes scrunched up into rubbish bags!’
Jo sighed. 'I'm trying very hard not to go ballistic. It doesn't achieve much. Now, let's go through these to make sure I'm not filling the boat with clothes I can't get into.
‘I should have done this years ago,' she went on a few minutes later, pulling off a cotton sweater that was definitely too tight. 'I haven't worn that for years.’
Dora picked up the jumper. 'This is really nice.'
‘Do you want it? Help yourself. I'm always very flattered when Karen takes my things, although they are usually my cashmere jumpers.' She paused suddenly. 'I might not be able to afford cashmere jumpers soon.'
‘Why not?'
‘Well, Philip's bound to stop being so generous eventually. He's still feeling guilty, but that'll wear off. I'll have to earn my own living. I really hope I can earn enough from restoring collectables and antiques.' She hugged a striped Breton top to her. 'Philip bought me this from France, years and years ago. I couldn't convince him that horizontal stripes weren't a good idea for a woman of my shape.'
‘Put it on! I think it might look nice! Or does it remind you of the good old days?' Dora bit her lip, afraid that she'd been lacking in tact.
Jo pulled off the T-shirt she'd been wearing. 'I'm not at all sure,' she said through the top as she pulled it down.
‘It does suit you, really it does. It sort of nips you in at the waist.'
‘Does it?' Jo considered her reflection. 'Mm, perhaps you're right. Let's put the clothes I'm taking in this bag and the ones that need disposing of in that one.'
‘That's such lovely fabric,' said Dora, looking at a wrap around skirt.
‘Does anyone wear skirts like this these days?' asked Jo. 'It would make lovely cushions.'
‘Have you got a sewing machine?'
‘Yes I have actually, in the attic. I don't think Philip would mind if I took that. It is mine, after all.'
‘Let's go and look, then we can make cushions out of the clothes you don't want to keep and sell them.’
Jo laughed. 'It would take a lot of cushions to buy a cashmere sweater.'
‘Never mind! Many a little makes a lottle – or something.'
‘I think you mean "many a mickle macks a muckle",' said-Jo, starting to giggle.
‘Do I?' Dora giggled too and picked up a pair of linen trousers. 'I think you should wear these.'
‘I think one leg should wear them, though I'm not sure what the other leg would wear, they're tiny. In fact, they're Karen's. You have them.’
Dora was struggling into them when they heard a car pull up on the gravel outside. Jo rushed to the window.
‘Oh no! It's Philip and – Samantha! What are they doing here so early?'
‘Oh God, I've got stuck in these trousers!' said Dora, trying in vain to pull them off. 'How old was Karen when she had these?'
‘I told him we'd be here this morning. He promised he'd keep away until twelve though he'd said I could have a whole day to begin with. He is the limit! Shall we run out through the back?'
‘I can't run anywhere!' declared Dora. 'I'm hobbled by these wretched trousers. I can't pull them up or down!'
‘I'll have to find something to cut them with. Here -there's a manicure set. It's bound to have scissors.’
The tiny scissors made no impression on the cloth.
‘Oh God, this is so awful,' said Dora. 'My circulation is being cut off. They'll have to amputate my legs, let alone the trousers.’
Jo felt a bubble of laughter rising and fought it down. 'There'll be some better scissors in the kitchen. I'll run down and get them.' They both heard the front door open. 'Too late. They're here now.’
Both women stood, Dora swaying slightly in an effort to keep her balance, listening. They heard the sounds of things being tossed on the hall table, keys jangling, the door shutting, and then, a moment later, a female voice.
‘Where is she, then?’
The voice was tense and a little on the shrill side.
‘She must be upstairs,' said Philip. 'Jo!' he called up the stairs. 'Are you there?’
After a quick glance at Dora, frantically struggling again, Jo went out on to the landing so she could talk to Philip. To her irrational relief, his companion had gone into another room. 'Yes. I thought you'd arranged to be out. Until twelve. I was going to have a whole day, then a morning, now it's only about an hour!'
‘Samantha forgot something. It is her home, she can come and go as she wants.' He sounded angrier than the pre-arranged presence of his ex-wife in his house really warranted.
‘Dora's here,' said Jo, staying calm. 'We need some scissors.’
A small scream was heard from the kitchen. 'She's cutting up my clothes! Philip! Do something!'
‘Jo! How dare you?' demanded Philip, one foot on the bottom step.
Jo looked down at him, unable to credit what she was hearing. 'I'm not cutting up anything – except a pair of Karen's old trousers. No, don't come up. I'll come and get some scissors out of the kitchen.’
She went downstairs and met her husband's new love drinking a glass of water. She was very young, moderately pretty, with long bare legs shown off to their best advantage by a miniskirt. Jo had to concede Samantha didlook a little like she had done when she was that age. Samantha undoubtedly drank many litres of water a day. Had she been a friend of Karen's, Jo probably would have liked her, but as her own replacement in Philip's bed, liking was impossible. Maturity was the only advantage she had in this situation and Jo did her best to sound grown up. 'Hello,' she said, holding out her hand. 'You must be Samantha. I'm Joanna.'
‘But everyone calls her Jo,' said Philip, coming up behind them.
Jo ignored him. 'Would you mind if I found a pair of scissors from the kitchen? My friend is upstairs. She tried on a pair of my – our – daughter's trousers and she can't get them off or on.' She smiled, still trying to keep up her role as a benign headmistress on speech day – terribly polite and terribly patronising.
Philip and the Floosie exchanged glances but didn't move as she went to the drawer where she had always kept the scissors. Thankfully, they were still there. She picked them up and they felt familiar in her hand. She'd made cardboard castles, Romeo and Juliet's balcony, model theatres, produced any amount of Christmas cards and cut enough wrapping paper to encircle the earth, all with those faithful scissors. Now she had to ask to borrow them.
She cleared her throat. 'Excuse me,' she said to Samantha, who was blocking her way.
Samantha wouldn't move. 'What are you going to do with those scissors?' she demanded.
‘I told you, rescue my friend from a very tenacious pair of linen trousers.'
‘You're not going up there!' said Samantha, highly agitated. 'I've read about people like you, taking revenge. I don't know what you might do! My clothes are all designer labels. I don't want you cutting them to pieces.’
It seemed to Jo that the younger woman was on the verge of hysteria. 'Why would I want to do a thing like that?'
‘Because you're jealous! I've taken your husband!’
Jo took a deep breath. There was no doubt that she was the injured party, but she was not going to spend time placating this young woman and as Philip would doubtless object if Jo threw water over her, she'd have to try and cool her off by other means. Thanking God for her part in a WI play many years ago, Jo got into her role.
‘Darling,' she drawled in the most patronising manner she could manage, 'one isn't jealous of the bin men when they take away your rubbish. One is grateful, and gives them a tip at Christmas.' Wondering if she'd overdone the 'ones' she smiled graciously, and, as Philip and Samantha instinctively made way for her, went back upstairs.
‘Mad woman!' she muttered to Dora who was hiding behind the bed. 'She accused me of wanting to cut up her clothes because I'm jealous!' She turned her attention to Dora's predicament. The waistband of the trousers were cutting deep into her thighs, just below the hip. 'I don't want to cut you by mistake.’
They heard footsteps outside. 'Oh God,' said Dora, 'they're coming in! Hurry up! Please!’
Jo eased the blades of the scissors between Dora's flesh and the fabric and cut. As Philip and Samantha entered the room she tugged hard at the nick. A ripping sound filled the silence for long seconds.
‘I knew it!' screamed Samantha. 'She's up to something. What's she hiding?’
Philip stood by looking anxious. Jo leapt to her feet, aware that Dora didn't want to appear half-naked in front of Philip. 'I'm not hiding anything – at least – not anything in the sense you mean.'
‘I don't believe you!' Samantha screeched. 'There was a tearing noise. You're tearing my clothes. Or my new curtains – something!'
‘My dear, while good taste suggests that cutting up the curtains and duvet cover in this room would be an excellent idea, I haven't done it. Now, if you could give us a moment or two of privacy we'll be able to set your mind at rest.’
Samantha was not to be pacified. 'I don't believe you! You're up to something ghastly! Of course you're jealous! It's only normal!'
‘Sweetie, don't upset yourself,' said Philip, trying to sound soothing but actually sounding a little hysterical himself. 'Your hormones are all over the place. Jo wouldn't do anything spiteful. We've just found out,' he added to Jo confidingly. 'Samantha's pregnant! It's why we came home so soon. Isn't that wonderful?’
Jo's head swam and for an awful moment she thought she was going to faint. She moved round so she could sit on the bed. Stars danced around her head and her blood was pounding so loudly it seemed to be running through her ears. She shut her eyes.
‘Jo! Are you all right?' Dora, setting aside her modesty, got up and perched on the bed next to her.
The blackness cleared and Jo pushed her hair back from her forehead. 'I'm fine. I just suddenly felt hot. Must be my hormones!' Her smile, though brave, was very brittle. 'Philip, could I trouble you for a glass of water?'
‘I'll get one immediately.' He nodded a hello in Dora's direction and turned to leave the room.
Jo was touched to see genuine concern in his eyes and felt a little better. 'No, it's all right, I'll come downstairs. Dora and I have more or less finished sorting clothes, haven't we?’
Samantha, apparently not convinced that her designer clothes were not in danger from the rather blunt kitchen scissors, didn't move. Philip waited, putting a hand under Jo's elbow as she got up.
Dora, obviously longing to be left alone to get her own trousers on, said, 'Why don't you go down? I'll get dressed and tidy up here.'
‘I'm sorry if it sounds neurotic,' said Samantha, 'but I'll stay upstairs, too.’
Dora really would have preferred to get her own trousers on in private. She didn't know Samantha, didn't like her, and didn't want her seeing her putting her less slim and less brown legs into her slightly grubby combats, but she smiled. 'Be my guest.’
Samantha opened the wardrobe doors and ran a hand over her clothes just to be sure. Seemingly satisfied, she turned to Dora. 'So, is Jo very bitter?' she asked. 'She's bound to be. I don't blame her, I suppose, but she'd got very boring, Philip says. She can't have been surprised that he found another woman.'
‘I don't think you could say she was bitter at all,' said Dora defensively. 'She's been very upbeat about the whole thing.' She laughed. 'In fact, she said that Philip had got very boring, so maybe they'd just fallen out of love with each other. I don't think she's jealous of you at all.' Dora didn't know if this was entirely true, but Jo had been putting a very brave face on things and she didn't want to give the Floosie any more ammunition.
‘But I've got her house. My mother would never have let Dad have the house. He had to go and live in a ghastly little flat when he and Mum split up.'
‘Jo's a very special person,' said Dora, 'and although I probably shouldn't tell you this, I wouldn't be surprised if she was snapped up by another man very soon.’
Samantha made a face. 'But how could she be? She's old!'
‘She's younger than Philip, she told me, and she's a very attractive woman. The men on the moorings have been flocking round her. Some men like the more mature woman,' she added.
‘But her figure's gone, her hair is a disaster, and while I do admit she's got good skin, I mean..
Aware that Samantha wasn't capable of expressing what she really meant, Dora said, 'But don't you think it's the person that matters? I mean, Uncle Philip – sorry!' She laughed artificially. Actually, she'd never called Karen's father anything except Mr Edwards. 'Philip – I used to call him "Uncle" when I was a little girl – is quite a lot older than you are, but you don't notice his turkey neck and saggy stomach, do you? You love the real Philip, the one inside.’
Samantha bit her lip. 'Yes, of course… hey, you wouldn't like to come and see my wedding dress, would you?'
‘Your wedding dress? But Philip and Jo aren't divorced yet, are they?'
‘Well, no, but we're going to have a special party to tell all our friends about us being together and everything. Now we can tell them about the baby too.’
Feeling that Jo might want a bit of time alone with her ex-husband, Dora reluctantly followed Samantha back into the master bedroom.
While Samantha and Dora were upstairs, Jo sat down at the kitchen and accepted a glass of water.
‘Do you think I could have my sewing machine?' she said quietly once she felt able to speak again. 'It's in the attic.'
‘Of course,' Philip said. 'Shall I get it down for you?'
‘That would be kind. You bought it for me when Karen started to need costumes for her dancing lessons. Do you remember?'
‘That's right! She was a talented little thing, wasn't she?'
‘Still is, only not as a dancer.' She was aware that he must miss talking about his only child. Samantha wouldn't want to hear how well Karen was getting on, running an art gallery in Toronto. 'You'll have another baby to think about soon.'
‘Yes, but Karen-'
‘Is your first child, the only one we had together.’
He swallowed, as if remembering the heartbreak that subsequent attempts at parenthood had caused. 'At least I know..
‘That it wasn't your fault,' Jo finished for him. 'That's very nice for you. Now would you be a dear and get the sewing machine for me?' She needed space alone more than she needed any amount of machinery.
‘Of course.’
Jo was still sitting at the table when Dora and Samantha appeared. 'Philip's gone into the attic to get my sewing machine.'
‘A sewing machine!' said Samantha. 'I've always wanted one of those.'
‘I'm sure Philip will get you one if you ask him,' said Jo, her patience wearing thin.
‘Or you could buy your own,' suggested Dora, who was a different generation.
‘I'd like to make the baby little clothes,' Samantha said confidingly. 'I used to make dresses for my Barbie.'
‘Did you?' Reluctantly, Jo felt some respect. 'Now that's really fiddly. I would have thought you'd have had to domost of it by hand. I once made a suede jacket for Karen's Sindy-'
‘I was so jealous of it!' said Dora, her youth coming back to her in a rush.
‘It was only fake suede,' said Jo. 'Oh, here's Philip.'
‘Sweet cakes! I was just saying, I really want a sewing machine.' Samantha was obviously remembering a happy childhood playing with dolls too.
‘Could you put that into the car for me?' Jo asked Philip. 'I'll take the clothes.'
‘I can take them,' said Dora, 'or the machine.'
‘It's all right, I'll take it,' said Philip. 'Sammy, darling, you wouldn't like to think about making some lunch, would you?’
They all trooped outside, including Samantha, who obviously felt the need to be near Philip, just in case.
Philip put the sewing machine in the back of the car. 'I hope you're going to be all right, Jo. I do worry about you.'
‘I'm going to be absolutely fine,' said Jo firmly.
‘And you're not going to go on this ridiculous trip to Holland, are you? Michael told me all about it. I was appalled. It sounds grossly irresponsible. You're very welcome to stay with us, both of you, while someone else takes it.’
Samantha's expression of horror at her new man's sense of duty would have made Jo laugh in normal circum stances. Now, she couldn't remember what normal circumstances were.
‘A trip like that' – Philip went on solicitously – 'is not really the sort of thing a woman of your age should undertake.’
For a ghastly moment, Dora thought she was about to witness a murder, but Jo seemed very calm.
‘Oh, I don't think my age means I should miss out on a chance of an adventure, do you? I mean, I only have myself to worry about now and it would be a shame to miss what could be the trip of a lifetime!'
‘But you know how sick you get and you'd hate it.'
‘Oh, I'm definitely going.' She got into the car, slammed the door and opened the window. 'I've got the chance to live a bit now I'm no longer married. I want to take full advantage.' She smiled. 'Oh, and by the way, remember Marcus? He's skippering.’
Jo felt a wicked pleasure in seeing Philip's look of bewilderment and then slight displeasure. It made up a little for the horror of the last half-hour.
‘Thank you for getting my sewing machine,' she added sweetly as she started the engine.
Dora saw from Jo's and Philip's expressions the way the conversation was going, and leapt into the car with alacrity, a black plastic bag clutched to her bosom.
A little way down the road, Dora said, 'That Samantha is a piece of work! It must have been utterly horrible for you. Shall I take you out to a pub for lunch?’
Jo sighed. 'That would be lovely! Somewhere with a garden where we can take our shoes off. I'm awfully hot.’
After they had found the perfect pub and were settled under an umbrella in the garden, their food ordered, she said, 'This is so kind of you, Dora, you don't need to pay for me. It could come out of your rent.'
‘Not at all. I'm a wage-earner now. I can afford some treats. Besides, I've got a bit of a confession to make to you.’
‘Oh, what?’
Dora sipped her spritzer. 'I said that the men on the moorings were flocking round you.'
‘You did? Why?' Jo asked, raising her face to the sun and feeling the stress of the morning gradually ease.
‘Because Samantha said you must be jealous of her, and I couldn't bear it, so I said you had no need to be jealous and that Philip had got very boring and she had no need to pity you. Although actually,' she went on thoughtfully, 'I think she is jealous of you.’
Jo didn't speak for a few moments. `To be absolutely honest, I was a bit jealous of her for a few moments. It's why I nearly fainted.'
‘From jealousy?' Dora was appalled.
‘No, shock, more. It was when Philip told me they were going to have a baby. It just hit me.'
‘But you wouldn't want another baby!' Dora was aghast. 'Would you?'
‘Good God no! Not at my age! But we did try to have another after Karen, in fact Karen took about five years to turn up. We – well, maybe it was just me – really wanted another baby. Now Philip's going to have one. He was a very good father,' she added.
Dora found herself unbearably saddened at Jo's plight. The longed-for baby was going to Philip, who was the one in the wrong. It did seem that his bad behaviour was being rewarded, while Jo's good manners were doing her no good at all. They sat in silence for a while and then Dora said, 'Did you mean it when you said you were definitely going to Holland?’
Jo took a deep breath and released it again. 'Oh, I think I'd better now, don't you?'
‘Yes!' said Dora, punching the air in a restrained way. 'Then I will too! Tom will be so pleased!'
‘Do you want to please Tom, Dora?' Jo looked at her questioningly.
‘Well, sort of, but it's mainly because it would be a challenge. Tom thinks I'm awfully pathetic.'
‘He can't think you're pathetic now. You've got racing tips and done karaoke.'
‘Those dares are different. Going to Holland on the barge would be a real challenge, don't you think?'
‘Deffo,' said Jo and Dora laughed.