CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
New Year’s Day dawned late and flat-grey cold. George and Owen lay in their beds like the undead, hungover and unable to work up enough enthusiasm to move.
‘Come on, you two,’ Sally said, delivering mugs of tea and chivvying them to get up. ‘We’re going to the sales. Time to buy you boys some new clothes. Especially you, Owen.’
‘Oh, no!’ he protested. ‘I can’t afford it.’
‘Ican. Especially in the sales.’
‘No!’ Owen cried, even more appalled. ‘I can’t let you buy me clothes. You’ve been more than generous already, putting me up here and feeding me and…’ Their eyes met.
‘Don’t argue, Owen.’ She put her hands on her hips and stared hard at him. ‘I’m buying George and you a suit each, and shoes and probably underwear, I’m guessing also you’ve only got two decent pairs of socks, Owen.’
Owen cast a glance across the room at George, hoping for help. But it was no use. George was drinking his tea, trying not to laugh, seeming to think Owen’s embarrassment was hysterically funny.
‘Now Owen,’ Sally continued, ‘Drink your tea… there’ll be egg, bacon and fried bread on the table downstairs in half an hour and I expect you showered and in front of your breakfast by then.’
Owen groaned.
A small giggle escaped from George.
Sally said, ‘That means you too, Georgie.’ And she flounced out of the bedroom.
Six hours later,they returned home laden down with shopping. A suit each, a formal overcoat each. Black leather brogues, that Owen was sure would hurt his feet – he’d only worn trainers in recent years. Shirts, a pair each. Two ties for George and the same for Owen, real silk, one black and another more colourful for future use. Multiple pairs of socks and underpants. It was no surprise to George. He’d been on shopping sprees with his mother before, but Owen was in a state of shock with so many clothes, so much money spent.
‘Take those upstairs,’ Sally said, nodding at the bags. ‘And hang the suits and coats up straight away so they don’t get crumpled. I’ll quickly put together a casserole for you to eat later when I’m out.’
George turned to his mum. ‘You’re going on the date, then?’
‘Yes, I’ve decided. I will give Henry a chance. I suppose I’d better phone him now.’ She stepped towards the sitting room. ‘I’ve kept him waiting for my answer long enough.’
Owen said, ‘Don’t worry about making food for us. I can knock something up for us.’
‘Yeah,’ George joined in. ‘Just another of his many skills – Owen can cook. But there’s no need. I’m going out with Millie tonight.’
‘So Owen’s going to be on his own?’ Sally looked concerned. She hesitated in the doorway, as if wondering if she should stay home.
‘It’s fine, Sally,’ Owen said reassuringly. ‘More quiet time for me to read.’
‘As long as you’ll be all right.’ Their eyes met.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he said.
‘That’s good,’ she said and shooed them both upstairs while she went to the phone.
An hour and a half later,Sally sashayed into the sitting room in a cloud of jasmine perfume. She’d showered and dressed, put her hair up in a chignon which was already losing the battle to keep all the curls in place. Her make-up, Owen thought, was perhaps a bit more subtle than usual. Her dress, a simple but sophisticated black wool shift, only hinted at the curves beneath and heeled black patent leather court shoes added another three inches to her height.
‘You still here, Georgie?’ she said. ‘I thought you’d be at the pub by now.’
‘Going any minute,’ he said, gawking at his mother.
‘Well?’ She did a twirl. ‘Will I do?’
‘More than do, Mum. You’re too good for him.’
‘Sweetheart.’ She moved towards George. ‘No one will ever meet your high standards.’ She touched his arm lightly with her fingertips and turned to Owen, who appeared to be reading.
‘What do you think, Owen?’
