Drip Dry by Ilsa Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

‘That’s fantastic!’
    â€˜Yep, and they are absolutely bloody gorgeous.’
    â€˜So, no problems? I mean, everyone’s okay?’
    â€˜No problems at all. They’re both fine.’
    â€˜How much do they weigh?’
    â€˜Weigh? I don’t know. But they look biggish.’
    â€˜David! You’re a twit. How’s Diane – how long was the labour?’
    â€˜Oh, not that long at all and she’s fine, fighting fit,’ he replies with all the airiness of someone who has not just pushed two ‘biggish’ humans through an extremely narrow orifice, and one who is never likely to be called upon to do so either.
    â€˜Names? Have you thought of any names?’
    â€˜No . . . well, we have , but we can’t agree yet.’
    â€˜Well, you’ll have to get your act together now that they’re born. What about visitors?’
    â€˜Not tonight, she’s probably knackered. But tomorrow’d be good.’
    â€˜Well, congratulations again. Give her my love and tell her I’ll be in tomorrow.’
    As I hang up I can actually feel a sense of reliefsurge through me. As Diane’s pregnancy had progressed so satisfactorily, my sense of foreboding had lessened somewhat, but it is still great to know that it’s all gone smoothly, and she’s fine, and they’re fine.
    This definitely calls for more than coffee – it calls for champagne. Accordingly I put the kettle down and mop at my chest with the tea-towel before fishing a bottle of bubbly out of the fridge (it pays to be prepared). Then I grab five champagne flutes, arrange them on a tray with a bag of nuts and, balancing the tray carefully, head slowly back next door.
    â€˜Sam! Turn it off and come inside!’ I yell as I pass my daughter, who is doing a surprisingly meticulous job on her father’s front lawn, something I must file away for future reference. Benjamin looks up from his weeding and catches one of the flutes deftly as it topples off the tray. I raise my eyebrows in surprise because Ben is usually so incredibly clumsy that he is a positive menace to have around anything even remotely breakable. I have no idea where he gets it from.
    â€˜Thanks. Bring it in with you, please.’
    Ben moves past me onto the verandah and opens the door for me as the mower shudders to a halt behind us. The cool air inside the house is positively orgasmic. I carry my tray through the house to the kitchen where Maggie and CJ are putting tins neatly into one of the freshly lined cupboards.
    â€˜We’ve got something to celebrate! Come on, Sam, hurry up, you can get back to the mowing in a minute.’
    â€˜Hmm, what’s going on?’ Maggie looks questioningly at the tray and then at me.
    â€˜In a minute. Right, is everyone here? Well, we have to have a toast,’ I say as I attempt to wrest the top out of the champagne bottle. ‘Diane has had the twins and everyone is fine!’
    â€˜That’s fantastic !’
    â€˜Oh, Mummy! Do they look like me?’
    â€˜Das ist gut!’
    I ignore Sam’s foray into German, which I have been finding increasingly irritating over the last six months (however, one of the elective subjects I have chosen is German, so soon I’ll know what she’s talking about and then she’ll be in for a surprise), and concentrate on unscrewing the wire from the champagne cork. That done, I start to carefully lever out the cork.
    â€˜Oh, can I do that, Mum? I’m really good at it.’
    â€˜So give us all the details – like, how big are they?’
    Just as I am about to answer Maggie and inquire of Ben why and how he is really good at removing champagne corks, the cork I’m working on disengages itself with a loud pop and immediately shoots straight through my fingers and upwards into the ceiling. Where it imbeds itself. We all stare in unison at the little bit of cork that is sticking crookedly out of the