The Pink House by Catherine Alliott EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Catherine Alliott
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Comedy
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- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Tucked away in a drawer in my mother-in-law’s London flat, and presumably
somewhere equally private in my father-in-law’s seaside cottage, I imagine
there is a legal document filled with the reasons why the pair of them decided
to divorce two months ago, well into their seventies. I wondered, as I finally
found the postbox next to the turning and abruptly swerved right, if those
irritations might not seem rather petty and inconsequential now? Given the
fallout Hugh and I were grappling with? And that if someone had sat them
down and explained how divorce would sour what remained of their lives –
or if they’d somehow been able to glimpse the future – might they not have
reconsidered? Still be together?
As I pulled into the pub car park, half an hour late, grabbing my phone and
bag, I realized that some might say that person should have been me, given
that the people who by rights should have done it were totally incapable. The
family. They’d simply made vague noises about it all being terribly difficult,
and Mum and Dad never taking a blind bit of notice of anything they said,
then, avoiding my eye and looking awkward, gone back to their books, or
their music, or their art, relieved that difficult conversation was over and
hopefully Emma was happy.
I hurried on through the panelled bar and into the restaurant where I saw
Jane, sitting at a table by the window. She looked only mildly amused as I
flew across the room, collapsing dramatically into the seat opposite her. I was
dying for a pee but knew this wasn’t the moment.
‘Ah, the late Emma Petridis,’ she drawled.
‘Sorry,’ I gasped. ‘Sorry sorry sorry. That bloody postbox. I swear they
move it or something.’
‘Oh, they do, every time. They know you’re coming, you see, and Postman
Pat sneaks out and puts it on the corner of a different lane. Are you
drinking?’
‘Definitely. Forty minutes on the M3 with my father-in-law on the blower
on famously fizzy form would turn anyone to drink. But just a spritzer,
please,’ I said, looking up with a smile, as our elderly landlord materialized
beside us.
Ron greeted me, recognizing me as the other half of the friendship duo
who’d been coming here for years, and after much commiserating about the
traffic, bustled away to get my drink and ‘the usual’, a salade Niçoise apiece.
‘So.’ Jane leaned in, her lips twitching. ‘No longer our halfway house, eh?
Soon to be abandoned for a pub on the Downs, or even your vast ancestral
farmhouse kitchen.’ She raised her glass. ‘Here’s to raiding the Petridis
cellar.’
I knew she was pissed off about permanently being kept waiting, but her
untypically brittle tone made me anxious.
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