long ago. She wasnât sure that she remembered right.
âSo weâve got another disaster tourist, have we?â said Jess, releasing Annie from the hug but keeping a proprietary hand on either flank of her and studying her with unfaked interest. âWhat would you like to see first? Smoking ruins? The morgue? Two ex-cathedrals? Liquefaction? Collapsed cliffs?â
âBed,â said Annie, âor rather a bottle of wine, then bed.â
âSpoken like a star. Hand over that bag and follow me, my darling.â
âJess,â said Annie as Jess steered the Ford Fiesta towards the car exit, âyou are sure itâs all right for me to come and stay. I mean, you will say ifâ¦â
âNot another word, sweetheart,â said Jess, laying a hand on Annieâs forearm. âYour arrival is a blessed relief from the guilt of having a spare room and no one in it. You can stay as long asyou like. Itâll be a laugh.â And so saying she wound down her window to feed a ticket into the parking machine, found she was too far away to reach and had to get out of the car. The driver behind blasted his horn. Jess laughed, fed the ticket into the machine then turned and blew the driver a theatrical kiss.
âYou want to be careful,â said Annie as Jess got back in.
Jess snorted. âRelax, darling. If you take the initiative, blokes simply have no idea what to do. Now, tell me about this hunk of a Pom youâve left behind.â
âPaul? He asked me to marry him.â
âAnd?â
âAnd nothing.â
âYou said no?â
âI said nothing. Sort of couldnât say yes and couldnât say no.â
âThatâll have gone down well, I bet.â
âHeâs remarkably tolerant. But then at the airport he suddenly launched into this speech about being an ordinary bloke who just wanted dozens of kids and me pretty much chained to pram and stove for twenty years while he went out and forged an exciting career. It was such patronising, old-fashioned chauvinism that I almost said yes on the spot.â
âBut you didnât.â
âNo.â
Jess turned to look at her.
âOh, and he said that he didnât love me, but that by having a dozen kids and twenty years of raising them weâd find we loved each other by the end, or something.â
âAnd if you donât?â
Annie shrugged. âThe possibility didnât seem to arise. Though I suppose by then itâs too late to matter much.â
âSo what are you going to do about him?â
âI said Iâd tell him when I got back. Heâs in a bit of a rush to start breeding.â
âSo should you be if youâre going to.â
âHowâs your love life?â asked Annie. âIs that Irish guy still on the scene? Or has some wise doctor finally beaten down the door to your heart and is even now preparing to whisk you off to Fendalton to frighten the expensive wives?â
âNeither of the above,â said Jess. âBut workâs good for a change. Bizarre injuries, terror, power cuts, aftershocks⦠Itâs full on, the sort of thing you went into nursing for. Or at least I did.â
âBy the way,â said Annie looking out the window at the neat houses lining the road, âwhere is it? The quake. I donât see it.â
âNo, sweet pea, you wonât, not out here. In these parts it was just a bloody good shake, a bit of crockery down perhaps, the odd crack in the plaster. A couple of miles that way, however,â and she jerked her thumb in the direction of the city centre, âwell, youâve seen the pictures. And as for where we were brought up, well, the word everyoneâs using is munted. Itâs about right. Avonsideâs munted. Still, weâll cope. Never say die and all that. Though quite what the hell youâve come back for I havenât a bloody clue.â
âYes,