The Golden Gals' French Adventure: A BRAND NEW laugh-out-loud feel-good read from USA Today Bestseller Judy Leigh for 2024

By Judy Leigh

Sixty-nine-year-old Fliss has lived a life!

A career running her own successful business, a beautiful home, a wardrobe full of designer clothes – Fliss has everything she ever wanted. So why does she feel so lonely?

Sixty-six-year-old Shirl didn’t expect to be looking after a baby again, let alone a grown woman who should know better. But with her daughter Gemma struggling to adapt to motherhood, and her boss Fliss increasingly reliant on Shirl to run her life, Shirl never gets a moment to herself.

Fliss might not be great at life’s chores, but she is great at seizing opportunities, so when the chance for a jaunt to France’s beautiful Brittany comes her way, she decides it’s just what she and Shirl need. And as the sun-soaked town of Plouvannec-Sur-Mer begins to work its magic on the women, they realise there’s another way to live.

From cake-laden patisseries, to joyous local fetes, from food, views and beaches to die for, to a community quick to embrace them, not to mention some rather fine French men for company, perhaps it’s not too late for Fliss and Shirl to embrace a new adventure and look forwards to a totally different future.

Let Judy Leigh whisk you off to the beaches and beauty of Brittany. Warmhearted, funny and uplifting. This is the perfect feel-good story for all fans of Maddie Please, Dawn French and Caroline James.

'I loved this book. It's funny, emotional and a book that fills you with determination not to let life pass you by as you get older.' Jennifer Bohnet

Readers love Judy Leigh:

‘Why did it have to end lol. I tried to slow down the pace but this author draws you in straight from the beginning and you feel straight away that you know the characters where they live everything! Such talent is envied!’

‘This is another one of Judy’s terrific reads that is more than thoroughly enjoyable. It's more than a story- it's perhaps a message to all of us about “Carpe Diem” and taking hold of life with both hands whilst we can. The characters are wonderful and leap from the page like old friends.’

‘Over the last couple of years, Judy Leigh (also writing as Elena Collins) has become one of my favourite authors. I love how she has older characters living their best lives and I try to read all her books… Judy’s characters are so well drawn that you warm to them straight away and are interested in their stories. Her style of writing is beautifully readable and her descriptions of people are particularly good.’

‘This was a book I had trouble putting down! Thoroughly enjoyed the twist and turns. Can recommend for a good read.’

‘I’ve loved every one of the author’s contemporary second chance romances, but I really think I might have found my new favourite. The characters were simply wonderful and soon found their places in my heart, their wealth of life experience and paths to future happiness so very easy to identify with, and the whole story had a warmth and lightness of touch that I found totally adorable.’

Praise for Judy Leigh:

‘Brilliantly funny, emotional and uplifting’ Miranda Dickinson

'Lovely . . . a book that assures that life is far from over at seventy' Cathy Hopkins bestselling author of The Kicking the Bucket List

'Brimming with warmth, humour and a love of life… a wonderful escapade’ Fiona Gibson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Jun 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9781785132339

Judy Leigh

Judy Leigh is the bestselling author of Five French Hens , A Grand Old Time and The Age of Misadventure and the doyenne of the ‘it’s never too late’ genre of women’s fiction. She has lived all over the UK from Liverpool to Cornwall, but currently resides in Somerset.

Book preview

1

COCKTAILS FOR ONE

Fliss’s shoe slipped from her foot. She sat on a high bar stool, legs dangling, but her feet couldn’t touch the floor. The champagne shoes with a coarse glitter coating had cost six hundred pounds, and now one of them was upside down and out of reach. No matter how hard Fliss wriggled her foot, she couldn’t get it on. So she did what she always did when things weren’t going well. She held out her glass for a refill.

The barman of Tails Bar, who thought he was Tom Cruise from the eighties film Cocktail, all white teeth and flowery shirt, raised one eyebrow. ‘What’ll it be, Fliss?’

‘A Viking’s Testicle, darling.’

The Tom Cruise impersonator nodded knowingly. ‘Vodka, pineapple juice, champagne. Coming up.’

Fliss gazed around; no one was looking. She slid down from the stool, landing a toe on the stone floor, and pushed the shoe back on awkwardly, easing herself back on her perch. She resumed the smile as a fresh cocktail was placed on the bar.

‘That’s courtesy of the gentleman in the white jacket.’ Tom Cruise nodded his head to the left.

Across the room a man raised a glass in her direction. He was a fake tanned, handsome lounge lizard, his hooded eyes swivelling towards her again, no smile because he was clearly achingly bored and needed female company. Fliss raised an eyebrow signalling her thanks but she preferred to drink alone.

‘Here we go,’ she thought, sipping her cocktail. It was about time she stopped the silly game, drinking in bars, flirting with men. But it stemmed the loneliness for a short while. For as long as she was drinking.

A pair of damson lips warmed her ear and Allegra De Soto, one of the regulars, leaned against the bar to whisper, ‘That’s Garfield Winter. He drives a lovely white Jag, leather seats. Nice, if you like that sort of man.’

‘I drive a Jag; well, Shirl drives it for me.’ Fliss knew how to play the game. ‘What sort of man is he, darling?’

‘Suave. Boring. Temporary.’

‘Ideal.’ Fliss sipped the cocktail, enjoying the sharp fizz of champagne. ‘I might just see what the evening brings.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe he can be my taxi home. Shirl can’t come and pick me up – she has problems with one of her kids.’

‘Kids are overrated,’ Allegra muttered knowingly.

‘I didn’t have time to have any. Then I had a hysterectomy.’ Fliss smiled at the memory. ‘It ended a horrendous menopause.’

‘Wombs are overrated,’ Allegra added and was gone. The man wearing the white jacket and dark trousers had taken her place.

‘I’ve been watching you.’ The man arched an eyebrow.

‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Fliss lied. ‘But thanks for the Viking’s Testicle.’

‘I’m Garfield Winter.’

‘Oh?’ Fliss feigned boredom. ‘I’m Felicity Beaumont. Fliss.’

Garfield smiled. ‘Charmed. Shall we move to somewhere a little more comfortable?’

He indicated the cream leather sofas in the corner where the lights were dim. Fliss felt one of the shoes slip from her foot again and lied, ‘I’m comfortable here.’

‘Then may I keep you company?’ His voice was exaggeratedly gravelly.

Fliss put on her best unimpressed expression. ‘If you wish.’

‘I’d like to get to know you better.’

‘It’s a free country,’ Fliss said.

‘And what business are you in?’

‘Fashion,’ Fliss replied. After all, she wore it. ‘And money.’ She spent plenty of it. It was a fair answer: she’d sold her lingerie company several years ago but she rarely mentioned that now. She’d grown tired of being asked, ‘Are you the woman in frilly undies?’

Garfield preened. ‘I’m in insurance.’

Fliss yawned. ‘Oh, please don’t tell me you’re here to sell me some awful policy…’

‘I’m here to enjoy myself. The night is still young and…’ Garfield murmured in his sexiest voice. ‘So are we.’

‘Indeed we are, darling,’ Fliss agreed, sipping the cocktail. She knew she was getting drunk – she’d lied three times in the last five minutes. She was sixty-nine years old and Garfield, viewed from close quarters behind his orange tan, was at least the same. She watched the fizz in her glass subside. She was getting too old for the charade of chatting to strange men, pretending to be interested, before Shirl turned up to tip her into the passenger seat of the E-Type coupé and whisk her safely home. Fliss had done it for years, sitting in bars in London and Paris and nowadays, in a small town in Somerset.

Shirl was a good sort, Fliss thought – she never complained, although you could always see the bewilderment in her face. She was poor as a church mouse so Fliss was thankful she had money – it meant she could employ Shirl as chauffeur and cleaner and Shirl tolerated her drinking, her slovenliness and the late hours. It was a fair exchange.

Garfield held out a gold case and murmured, ‘Cigarette?’

‘Why not?’ Fliss knew perfectly well why not. Smoking wasn’t permitted in the bar. Besides, she had given up several times, the last time over a year ago. She pushed a cigarette between puckered lips and touched his hand as he flicked a gold lighter. ‘Thank you.’

Fliss noticed the Tom Cruise-lookalike bartender give a warning glance but she ignored him and exhaled a plume of smoke. Breaking rules was fun. Besides, she had no lift home tonight and Garfield Winter might be more interesting than taking a taxi. He was talking to her again and she reminded herself to listen.

‘…glass is almost empty. Would you like the same again?’

‘I might.’ Fliss drained the last mouthful in one gulp and noticed he was drinking tonic water. She checked her reflection in the brass work on the bar. The blurred outline of a blonde woman in a red dress wobbled unsteadily. Fliss looked for somewhere to grind out her cigarette and found nowhere. She reminded herself to keep her wits about her. Her companion was talking about money, trying to impress her as he banged on about stocks, diversification, yields, compound interest, price-to-earnings. Fliss decided she’d had enough.

Two hours later, Garfield Winter slowed his Jaguar down in the drive of her bay fronted Edwardian house, surveying the exterior. ‘I’d say this is a very marketable property. Houses in North Clayworthy are at a premium, so close to Taunton. How many years have you been here, Fliss?’

Fliss shook her head but her vision didn’t clear. ‘Three?’ She tried a quick mental calculation: she’d eventually moved down from London on a whim, hoping to integrate into quiet village life. Since then, she’d spent half her time going to Taunton or back to London or to Paris to shop, and the other half to beauticians or bars. She wasn’t about to disclose that to Garfield. ‘No – make that two years.’

‘And you live alone?’ He edged closer.

‘Mmm.’ Fliss thought of the men she’d dated over the years, different types, different times, all completely wrong for her. ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly, and it occurred to her that she had no intention of seeing him again. He wrapped an arm around the back of the passenger seat, so she said, ‘Thank you for the lift. It’s time for me to go to bed.’

Garfield’s eyebrows shot up hopefully. ‘Can I come too?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Fliss replied sweetly.

‘I’d like to see you safely inside,’ Garfield murmured. Fliss glanced down. One of her shoes had come off again. She wriggled her toes back in.

‘I shouldn’t have had the fifth Viking’s Testicle,’ she groaned. ‘Two is enough for anyone.’

‘I’ll see you to the door.’

‘No, thank you.’

Garfield was leaning in for a kiss. ‘Then shall we say goodnight here?’ His lips were looming.

‘Goodnight, darling,’ Fliss mumbled and turned her head. The kiss caught her ear and she felt a tug as one of her earrings came loose. She turned to Garfield, who had a halo drop between his teeth.

‘That came from the Diamond Store in London.’ Fliss held out a hand and watched as he plopped the earring in her palm. She met his gaze. ‘I think I’ll get an early night.’ She realised that it was past eleven. Fliss tried again. ‘Thank you for the lift.’

Garfield seized her hand. ‘Can I see you again?’

‘I don’t think so, Garfield. We had a pleasant evening, but let’s just leave it there.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No, I’m not,’ Fliss retorted. ‘Nor do I have any intention of being married. Twice is enough.’

Realising his time was running out, he played his trump card. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Fe-line Frillies.’

‘You know about my old company?’ She stared at him.

‘I looked you up online.’

‘Oh dear,’ Fliss said. ‘Then you’ll know I started it in 1978 after doing an arts and design degree, and I sold it a few years ago. I hocked my first house and worked my arse off for that company. It’s made me what I am, and it didn’t come without sacrifices.’

‘You’ve made a lot of money. I could offer you a great return on an investment.’

Fliss kept her voice calm. ‘Is that why you bought me the cocktails?’

Garfield looked at his hands, then turned earnest eyes on Fliss. ‘Not entirely. You’re an attractive woman.’

Fliss had had enough. ‘Good night, darling. Thanks for the Viking’s Testicles.’

‘Just give me your number.’

Her voice was firm. ‘No.’

Fliss slid from the car, almost twisting an ankle as the heeled shoe rolled beneath her. She did her best to appear elegant as she called over her shoulder, ‘Good night.’ Swinging her hips, she staggered into the darkness towards the front door, delving into her Burberry bag for keys, listening for the sound of the Jag engine driving away.

Once inside, Fliss locked the door and kicked off the shoes. She needed to sleep.

Fliss paused by the ornate hall mirror and stared at her tired face; her hair was messy. She looked lonely, her eyes were sad. She wondered if she should have invited Garfield Winter in, and chatted to him about equity release to pass an hour or two. The problem was that real friends were few and far between. There were occasional dinner party acquaintances who went back years, but what Fliss really needed was a soulmate. Women didn’t warm to her and men her own age wanted to control her assets, just like Garfield. And she was far too sensible to let a young man take advantage of her simply because he looked good on her arm. What Fliss needed was someone who really understood her. But what was the point? She wasn’t worth the trouble – she’d never been. Hadn’t her mother always told her that?

She needed coffee. Her cold feet found their way down the oak staircase to where the gleaming white kitchen made her blink. Shirl had done a good job. Fliss didn’t know how she managed on the money she paid her, although she paid her pretty well, considering. But Shirl was always chirpy despite the problems she always had, most of which seemed to come from her dreadful twenty-something daughter Gemma. Fliss snorted softly; compared to poor Shirl’s, her own problems were trivial. And Shirl was a much better person. Shirl the pearl. The most sensible person she knew.

She stumbled towards the machine and began to organise an espresso, then she remembered she had an unopened packet of cigarettes in one of the drawers. The cigarette she’d smoked in Tails Bar had kicked off a craving and, despite having given up, it was so easy to start again.

In her drunken haze, Fliss took the coffee and the packet of cigarettes and sat down at the table. She lit up, inhaled, slurped a mouthful of bitter coffee and realised how drunk she was. Her body ached with tiredness and her head swam; the kitchen swirled first one way and then the other. Fliss put her head down on the table and her fingers to her forehead, and she breathed out slowly. She wanted to cry.

She should know better, but old dogs didn’t learn new tricks. It was too late for her to change her ways now.

2

A BABY AND A VACUUM CLEANER

Shirleen Booker huddled inside her dressing gown, staring through the window at the cloud-crammed sky as she took a deep breath. She wanted to appreciate each moment and at times like this, it was so nice to pause from her busy routine and be mindful about what a gift life was. She surveyed the row of cottages beyond the little terrace, the church steeple and the woodlands. At the edge of North Clayworthy was Fliss Beaumont’s Edwardian house, where she had worked for the last eighteen months. Shirl wondered if Fliss had arrived home safely last night. Shirl worried about her, the late hours and the drinking; she was always happy to drive into Taunton in the E-Type and pick Fliss up, just to make sure she returned home safely. On a couple of occasions in the last year, Shirl had even heaved her out of her clothes and tipped her into bed, Fliss chortling about what would she do without Shirl, who always replied dryly, ‘You pay me for it, Fliss. What else am I going to do with a woman whose belly is full of cocktails and whose head is full of nonsense?’

Shirl ran a hand through her curls, almost frosted white now although she wasn’t yet sixty-six. Time had taken its toll; she worked too hard, but cleaning, cooking and driving for Fliss was easy compared to the jobs she’d done before. She’d been everything from a receptionist at a building site to a gutter in a fish shop. And every job she’d ever had was easier than her life at home now. Her eldest daughter, Leonie, had never been any trouble. Leonie’s father Del had been a good man and Shirl had loved him to bits, but he’d died young. Leonie was forty now, living in Edinburgh with her husband and two children. She was sensible – she rang once a week and visited twice a year. No, Gemma was the problem, twenty-nine and completely naïve. Her father Neville had been handsome and charming but in reality he was a lazy loafer, and Gemma had inherited his idle ways. She never learned a lesson, that one – in trouble at school, always making bad decisions then coming to Shirl for help.

Shirl had done her best for Gemma, who just needed time, she was sure. She glanced through the window, watching two magpies swirl and land. Two for joy. Then something in her soul was stirred by the sweeping of their wings on a bright June morning, how they stretched their oily-blue necks. The house creaked and then was silent. Shirl loved those early hours before the village woke.

Sunday usually started peacefully; she’d shower, dress, pop round to check on Fliss, spend an hour tidying up the mess she’d made last night, then the rest of the day was hers. She loved the peace of the park, a good book, sitting in the sunshine on a blanket. It made her smile, seeing the day unfold slowly, rising like a light sponge cake. She was truly blessed.

Her peaceful thoughts were interrupted by a high piercing shriek coming from the next bedroom. Shirl called, ‘Gemma?’

She listened: there was nothing but the yell of a screaming baby. Shirl moved quietly to the landing and prised open the door. She could see Gemma asleep in the double bed, an arm thrown over her face, tumbling dark curls, and the duvet heaped on the floor. Shirl tip-toed inside the room, shuffling towards the cot where the baby was roaring, fists knotted, little face puffed with fury. Her voice was soothing. ‘Come to Grandma. I’ll get you some breakfast. Let’s have a cuddle and we’ll be on our way downstairs. Don’t you be so impatient, Macey Roux.’

She held the warm bundle tightly, rocking her gently, and looked over her shoulder. Gemma heaved herself over and started to snore. Shirl planted a sweet kiss on the child’s damp forehead. ‘Ah, you need your nappy changing, lady. Let’s get you sorted out.’

Shirl wasn’t sure why she crept out of Gemma’s bedroom so carefully; Gemma was dead to the world. Macey Roux nestled in her arms now as she trod silently down the stairs watching her granddaughter gaze up with round brown eyes. Shirl kissed her again. ‘Oh, you are Grandma’s darling girl.’

Forty minutes later, Macey was gurgling with delight; she had a full tummy and a clean nappy, and she was lying on her back in a colourful baby nesting pod blowing raspberries. Shirl was clearing up debris from Macey’s breakfast, thinking, ‘I must talk to Gemma about getting some biodegradable nappies. I bet they still take years to decompose though – I heard they produce methane. I’ve no idea what’s the best thing to get nowadays.’ She twirled round. Macey was pushing her fingers in her mouth, sucking loudly. Shirl couldn’t help it; she rushed over to Macey and swept her up, kissing her warm cheek. Having a baby in the house was a completely different ball game nowadays but Shirl wouldn’t have it any other way…

When Gemma first discovered that she was pregnant, she had been bewildered and sulky; neither she nor her boyfriend Carl had planned to have a child. They had split up now. Shirl had dealt with the initial tears, repainted the bedroom, bought a cot and coaxed Gemma through pregnancy. She’d nursed mother and baby during sleepless nights and stressful days. Since Macey Roux’s birth six months ago, Gemma often slept late into the day, leaving Macey to Shirl when she was too tired to cope. Shirl didn’t mind; she hugged Macey, told her she loved her so much at every opportunity. She adored the shining brown eyes, the flossy curls that stuck up stubbornly, the sweet smile that appeared so readily. Macey was a good baby; she could already grab toys, roll mischievously from her tummy to her back and she loved to look at herself in a mirror. That was, Shirl thought sadly, the only thing Macey and Gemma had in common.

Shirl was kneeling down, blowing kisses against Macey’s round tummy, when she turned to see Gemma standing behind her, still in pyjamas, arms folded. Her face was sullen. ‘You’re so good with her, Mum.’

Shirl’s voice was sharper than she’d meant it to be. ‘Nobody ever spoiled a child with love…’

‘I was wondering…’ Gemma made an anxious face as if life was hard. ‘Could you look after her today?’

‘Later this afternoon I could – I’m going to tidy at Fliss’s house at eleven.’

Gemma sighed loudly. ‘I’m supposed to be going out.’

‘When?’

‘When I’m dressed.’

‘Where are you going?’ Shirl returned Macey gently to the pod, stood up and placed her hands on her hips.

‘I have a date.’ Gemma rolled her eyes.

‘A date? With who?’

‘He’s called Ashton. He’s a barber; he has a shop in Taunton. I met him last week when I was having a coffee where I used to work. His shop’s across the road. He’d just popped out on his break and we started talking…’ Gemma’s eyes lit up for a moment. ‘We’re having a day out. He’s taking me to lunch.’

‘Take Macey with you.’

‘Are you mad?’ Gemma made her eyes large. ‘He doesn’t know I have a baby.’

‘Then you should tell him,’ Shirl retorted.

‘Why? He might go off me.’

‘Really, Gemma.’ Shirl lifted a finger. ‘This child is your first concern.’

‘I know.’ Gemma made a face. ‘I love her so much. It’s just – I haven’t mentioned her to him yet.’

‘If any young man is going to take you out on a date, he needs to know the package you come with. Macey is your priority.’

‘Yeh, yeh,’ Gemma said impatiently. ‘So can you take her? Please, Mum. Just this once…’

‘Gemma…’ Shirl stood tall.

‘I know, you’re not a baby-sitting service, you’ve told me that so many times already.’ Gemma turned to go. ‘For God’s sake, I’m allowed a life. I’ve been stuck inside these four walls with her for months now…’

‘Her?’ Shirl repeated. ‘That’s your baby girl.’

‘As if I didn’t know. Mum, you’re not listening. I spend all my time with Macey. I love her to bits. But – can’t you help me out? Just this once? You’re her grandma…’

Shirl bent over and picked up Macey Roux. She noticed her little face was anxious, her huge eyes on Gemma. ‘I’ll take her to Fliss’s with me, on one condition.’

‘And that is?’ Gemma’s expression showed that she’d accept any conditions; she intended to go out.

‘You tell this young man⁠—’

‘Ashton.’

‘You tell Ashton that if he’s going to be your boyfriend, he needs to get used to being part of Macey’s life.’

‘Yeh, yeh, I’ll tell him today, for definite. Thanks Mum.’ Gemma was already on her way out of the door. She hurried back and planted a kiss on Macey’s forehead. ‘Mummy loves you more than anything, sweetie…’

Macey blinked as if perplexed. Shirl kissed her pudding-soft cheek once more and whispered, ‘Grandma’s here too, Macey. Your mum’s just getting used to having you around – it all takes time.’

Shirl felt suddenly sad. Macey needed Gemma now and however hard Shirl tried to fill the gap, she wasn’t her mother. Gemma loved her daughter, she played with her and hugged her, but it was the part-time-ness of it that made Shirl’s blood boil. Once you were a mother, you were a mother first, full time, before anything else.

But Shirl knew she was blessed to have Macey in her life, Gemma too, and she’d make sure both her babies had everything they needed, and that included full-time love.

At ten minutes to eleven, Shirl arrived at Fliss’s house, Macey Roux strapped to her body in a baby sling. She put the key in the lock and stepped inside the cool hall, cupping a hand around Macey’s head as she slept. She was sure that Fliss wouldn’t mind her bringing Macey; Fliss was a lovely person, full of positivity and fun: at least she was that way when she was sober. Shirl wondered if Fliss might want to hold Macey while she pottered around cleaning up the mess, wiping surfaces, vacuuming, putting the dishes away. After all, what woman wouldn’t want to hug a gorgeous six-month-old baby?

‘Fliss. You up yet?’ Shirl called. The silence worried her for a moment. ‘Fliss?’ She stood on the bottom step that led to the first-floor bedrooms. There was no reply, just the echo of emptiness. Shirl noticed two glitter-covered shoes left at the top of the oak stairs down to the basement. Shirl peered down; there was a light on in the kitchen. She muttered, ‘Let’s go see what that damn fool woman’s up to now, Macey.’

At the bottom of the stairs, Shirl paused. Small lights blazed from the ceiling; the LED light on the coffee machine was on so Shirl switched it off. It must have been on all night, she thought. She noticed that Fliss was slumped across the kitchen table, her head on one side, her hair sticking up like brittle candyfloss, snoring. A cigarette was clamped between her fingers, the ash still long; it had burned itself out. There was a cup of cold coffee by her hand. Shirl took the cigarette to throw away and the coffee cup to wash. She decided immediately that Fliss needed fresh coffee, scrambled eggs and toast. She should have a good breakfast in her stomach after a hard night on the cocktails.

Shirl began to sing as she pottered around clanking cups and pans, beating eggs, filling the air with the aroma of toast and coffee. She launched into Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’, her voice rich and melodic, moving her hips rhythmically. Shirl was just adding a knob of butter to the eggs when the voice of a demon croaked from the table.

‘For God’s sake, Shirl, my brain’s leaking.’

Shirl beamed her widest smile. ‘Here’s breakfast for you, Fliss – it’ll put colour back in your cheeks. You certainly need it – you look like wallpaper paste.’

Fliss snorted, looking around for the mug of coffee that Shirl had just poured. She grasped it and gulped two scalding mouthfuls. The caffeine hit immediately and she sighed. ‘That’s better.’

Shirl served the eggs with a flourish. ‘Eat up.’

Fliss was about to push the plate away when it occurred to her that Shirl had no idea how badly her stomach was churning; she’d made breakfast from sheer kindness. So she said, ‘This smells good…’ As an afterthought she added, ‘I drank five Viking’s Testicles last night, darling – maybe six.’

‘Nothing with that name would ever touch my lips,’ Shirl said and Fliss laughed out loud.

Then Fliss said, ‘I can’t see straight – is that a baby you’re lugging around?’

‘It’s Gemma’s little one – this is my granddaughter.’

‘Mary Boo.’

‘Macey Roux.’

Fliss joked, ‘Is she helping you in the kitchen?’

‘I had to bring her,’ Shirl said. ‘Gemma’s struggling with her priorities but it’s not Macey’s fault. Or maybe I’m just old-fashioned to think that you should put your child first and not go gadding off with boyfriends.’ She turned from washing a pan. ‘Do you want to hold her?’

Fliss flinched and forked a tiny morsel of egg into her mouth. ‘Maybe – when I’ve eaten.’ She thought of something nice to say. ‘She’s cute.’

‘All babies are cute.’

Fliss shook her head. ‘Most of them poo and pee and then they become teenagers and give their parents a hard time – I know I did. My mother hated me from birth onwards. I clashed with her Pierre Balmain clothes. She thought babies were unnecessary trouble.’

‘Gemma’s twenty-nine and she’s still trouble.’

Fliss reached for the coffee; the room swam and her stomach lurched. ‘Shirl, I need…’

‘Water. Here – take this.’ Shirl handed her a tumbler. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much alcohol. It’s bad for your system. And are you smoking again?’

Fliss gulped the cool water and immediately felt better. ‘I’ve been stupid.’ She groaned. ‘Cocktails, cigarettes, wasting my time with the wrong sort of men. I got away with fast living when I was a young business woman. It came with the territory. And in all honesty, I knew I