Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

‘Hi, Mum! You're looking very – mm – well, sexy, if I may say so.’

Jo smiled at her daughter. 'You may say so.' Jo was glad of Karen's approval and she felt sexy too. It was a good feeling. Her morale had taken such a dive when Philip took up with Sam – Jo was training herself not to refer to her as the Floosie – it was nice to claim a bit back for herself. The fact that she'd had to leave Marcus so soon after their night together had left her full of doubts, convinced that she'd made up a lot of the things she thought he'd said, just because she wanted him to have said them so much.

To save her shoes as much as her feet, Jo slid out of her sandals and found her Birkenstocks; then she found the kitchen scissors, which were in quite the wrong place, and went out to cut herbs.

Philip arrived while she was still finding bug-free sprigs of lemon balm. She had already collected plenty of borage flowers, little blue stars, to go in the Pimm's, but she had wasted quite a lot of time looking at her garden. It looked so much better for a few days' intensive work, she decided.

She watched her husband – ex-husband, she wasn't sure which – walk up the garden path. He had a carrier bag in his hand that she knew was full of the steaks, lamb chops, kebabs and sausages that she had asked him to buy. Karen met him on the doorstep and they hugged. They really loved each other, those two, and Karen had obviously forgiven her father for his amazing lapse in taste. Jo sighed. She was glad that Karen and Philip seemed to have buried their differences and could now hold a civilised conversation together. It made life so much easier. Then she went back to the lemon balm, and found a bit of mint for the new potatoes that she hadn't cooked yet. She could never decide if she should serve them hot or cold. She might have to pop out and buy some French bread. Philip always told her they didn't need it, and admittedly, most of it was always left over, but she didn't feel safe without French bread. She might even make garlic bread. Her parsley patch was thriving so she could.

Miranda was at the door and Jo fell into her arms. 'It's so lovely to see you!' she said.

Miranda hugged her, and she was one of those people who, when she hugged you, made you know for sure you'd been hugged.

‘You look fantastic!' said Miranda. 'What's happened to you? Are you in love?’

Jo blushed. 'Karen's taken me in hand. Come in and meet her. Bill, this is so nice. Could you park the car OK?' Bill kissed her cheek. 'You look wonderful.'

‘Come and meet Philip, my… husband – Karen's father. They're round the back, with the barbecue.’

Miranda raised an eyebrow at the mention of Philip. 'We brought some bits and pieces,' she said, deciding not to say anything more and burrowing in a bright raffia bag. 'You can never have too much at a barbie, don't you think?'

‘Well, Tom and Dora, as well as her parents, are coming so we will need plenty,' said Jo, taking her friend's arm and leading her through the house.

‘This house is to die for!' said Miranda. 'Oh, sorry, that probably wasn't tactful, if it isn't yours any more.’

They had reached the French windows by that time, so Jo didn't have to answer.

Jo made the introductions and .Philip poured glasses of Pimm's. 'Or there's wine if you'd rather,' said Karen.

‘Actually, lovey – gosh don't you look like your mother? – I'd better have wine. I've got to drive home. We tossed for it and I lost.'

‘It was definitely your turn, sweetheart,' said Bill. 'Mum! Where are your sandals!' Karen admonished. 'Oh, sorry, I'll go and put them on.'

‘Are you still getting ready?' said Miranda. 'I'll come and talk to you in the kitchen. I wanted to tell you how much I sold the little mirror for. You did such a good job on those putti-'

‘What on earth are putti?' said Karen.

‘All I know is that I'm putty in my wife's hands,' said Bill. Miranda gave him a playful punch on the shoulder as she passed.

‘Oh, that salad looks fantastic! What can I do?' Miranda asked, once they were in the kitchen.

‘You can wash and chop the herbs, but check them for bugs first. I was quite careful when I picked them but you'd better give them the once-over.'

‘Nothing worse than gritty parsley, although this looks very clean,' said Miranda riffling through it. 'So, how was your trip to Holland? Not too terrifying, I hope.'

‘Well, Ed did fall in. Do you know Ed? He's Marcus's mate?'

‘I may have met him. That's awful! Was it very difficult getting him back on board?'

‘Incredibly difficult. Marcus is going to make sure it couldn't happen again.'

‘You can't prevent people falling in entirely, can you?'

‘He sort of fell out of the wheelhouse door. I was fairly OK about it at the time but since then I've felt queasy whenever I've thought about it.'

‘Oh, are these the sandals?' Miranda was distracted by slender leather straps, iridescent beads and wedged heels.

‘Yes – wedgies are definitely more comfortable than straight heels,' said Jo. 'I've- learnt such a lot from my daughter in the past few days.' She kicked off her Birkenstocks and wriggled her feet into the sandals.

‘Well, you certainly look fantastic.'

‘It's the bra – fearfully expensive.'

‘But so worth it.’

Jo laughed. It was good to see Miranda again.

‘Karen also bought me Touche Éclat and told me how to use it, although' – she lowered her voice – 'I haven't actually bothered today. Too much else on my mind. Do you think we need garlic bread?'

‘Not if you've got potatoes, surely.'

‘I have, but not that many.'

‘Have you got any French sticks?'

‘No, I ought to pop out and get some. You need some thing to put the sausages in.'

‘Give Tom and Dora a call and ask them to bring some. And are those two together yet?’

Jo laughed again. Trust Miranda. 'I don't know. I really hope so, they're so well suited.'

‘Either way they can bring bread. And then you can have another Pimm's. I love them.’

Jo smiled. 'I remember, at the rally.' She retrieved her phone.

‘Don't you keep it in your bra any more?'

‘Not these bras – far too expensive.' She scrolled through until she found Dora's number. 'Dora? You couldn't pass a supermarket and get some French bread, could you?’

Jo thought she spotted a change between Dora and Tom the moment they appeared at the gate, but as they didn't make any sort of announcement she resolved to try and get Dora on her own so she could ask what was up. She and Karen went to meet them.

‘Let's dump the bread in the kitchen,' said Karen, who obviously had first dibs on her best friend's time, 'and then let's have a drink. Tom?’

Karen's smile was so radiant that Jo felt a pang of confused loyalty – she didn't want her gorgeous daughter taking Tom from Dora and wondered why she felt like that.

Tom smiled back, an equally radiant smile with a hint of mischief but with no more than friendship in it. 'Well, the famous Karen, pleased to meet you.'

‘I've heard a lot about you too, Tom, like how you dragged a drowning man into a lifeboat,' said Karen. 'It wasn't quite like that,' said Dora.

Jo got a good look at Dora while she was chatting with Karen and Tom and she did seem more relaxed, somehow. She took the bread from her. 'I'll take this into the kitchen,' she said, giving Dora an opportunity to follow her if she wanted.

‘I didn't realise your garden was so wonderful,' said Dora, not moving, except to make an expansive gesture towards it. 'It was always just Karen's garden, but it's fantastic!’

Concluding that Dora didn't want a heart-to-heart, Jo said, 'I made a lot more of it when you and Karen stopped making dens in it. And I've had a good old go at it over the past few days.'