Women of a Dangerous Age by Fanny Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

then swallowed hard. Cutting loose from her neighbours, she focused on the pain in her head and on all the methods she knew that might relieve the pressure: holding her nose; swallowing; yawning;drinking the last of her water; trying and failing to find the chewing gum buried in her bag. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it another moment and her head would split in two, the plane hit the tarmac. As it bumped along the ground, the pain began to recede as they taxied towards the airport buildings.

4
    Lou’s eyes felt as if they’d been forcibly removed, sandpapered and returned to their sockets. Her limbs were leaden as she slid her suitcase through the melting snow along the path to her front door, vowing never to catch another overnight flight again. She stopped to look up at the windows, wound about with bare wisteria stems. Jenny’s home was hers now, and waiting to welcome her back. Even so, it was strange not to be returning from holiday to the home she and Hooker had shared for so long. For a second, she felt more alone than she had since their split. As she rummaged in her bag for her key, she felt Sanjeev’s business card. Would he make good his promise, hurriedly made as they walked towards Immigration, to invite her to dinner while he was in London? And if he did, how would she respond? Positively, she decided, given what she remembered of his manner, his way of conjuring up places, palaces, myths and Mughals, not of course forgetting his Bollywood good looks. And why not? There was no reason why she shouldn’t indulge in a little post-marital entertainment.
    As soon as she was inside, she swapped her too-thin macfor her voluminous knee-length leopard-print faux-fur coat that was scattered with Minnie Mouse faces. Walking through the house, inhaling the familiar scent of home, reacquainting herself with everything, she glanced out of the window into the garden. In contrast to the black slush covering the London streets, here was a frozen winter wonderland, only interrupted by the paw prints of local cats and foxes. Despite having put on the coat, she shivered and went to turn up the heating, exchanging her holiday shoes for her Uggs, before making herself a cup of tea, builder’s strength.
    Even though the house belonged to her now, she still felt Jenny’s presence. After months spent grieving for her younger sister, wandering round the place, remembering, Lou had finally galvanised herself. Being practical was one of the things she did best. At first she had planned to rent the house until the property market improved. She’d sorted out all her sister’s belongings before starting on a round of charity shop visits to get rid of the rest. Stuff – that’s all her sister’s possessions were now – just stuff that had little or no significance to anyone else, not even to Lou. She had found that terribly sad. Any tales about how Jenny came by certain things or why she kept them had died with her. Letters, old postcards from her friends, ancient bank statements and bills, diaries and notebooks: only fit for the bin. Lou had to go through them all first, despite hating the invasion of her sister’s well-kept privacy. Apart from one or two personal mementoes, some gifts for the children and a few clothes, all that Lou kept were the basics necessary for a rental property. If it was to appeal to any potentialtenant, her job was to neutralise Jenny’s home, get rid of its character altogether.
    But there wasn’t going to be a tenant, after all. The moment of realisation had come three months ago, as she planned the redecoration of the main bedroom. She was poring over a paint chart with a couple of fabric swatches in her hand, undecided between shades – Raspberry Bellini, Roasted Red or the one she knew she should choose: safe, innocuous white – when a blinding light dawned. Why do the place up for a stranger when it could be hers, done up