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Perfect Day

Perfect Day

Titel: Perfect Day Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Imogen Parker
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having two bank accounts. What’s it matter if he’s married, anyway? It’s not as if they’ve done anything.
    ‘So what do I have to do that I haven’t done?’ Alexander’s asking. His voice sounds far away, as if it’s in another room.
    ‘Come on,’ she says, slipping down from her bar-stool, taking his hand and pulling him out of the Food Hall towards the escalators, through the chocolatier section with its snooty-looking assistants who wear plastic-bag gloves, the pyramids of shiny dark chocolates in spotless glass cases, and the towers of red velvet boxes shaped like hearts.

Twelve

    Nell and Frances are standing in a queue for fish and chips. Lucy is dropping coins into the mouth of a lifesize plaster dog which is collecting money for the RSPCA.
    ‘I don’t suppose Alexander would oblige?’ says Frances .
    ‘What?’
    Nell’s mind is on all the things she is going to have to ask the proprietor about the food they’re about to order.
    ‘Sperm,’ says Frances , ‘for my baby?’
    Nell looks at her.
    ‘You are joking?’
    ‘Well, I suppose I must be if that’s your immediate reaction.’
    What Nell wants to say is: You hate Alexander and he hates you. What can you be thinking of? Instead, she says, ‘Alexander wouldn’t want not to be with his child.’
    It comes out with more certainty than she feels.
    ‘And you obviously wouldn’t like it,’ adds Frances .
    ‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ says Nell, then wonders if she’s being terribly mean spirited. Surely this is not a normal or reasonable request, even from a best friend? ‘I’m having enough trouble getting Alexander to take an interest in his own child,’ she says, and immediately regrets it. Frances has a way of being so extreme that the secrets she means not to tell her seem too trivial to hold back.
    It’s their turn at the counter.
    ‘My daughter is extremely allergic to nuts and I need to ask a few questions,’ Nell begins.
    The homely-looking woman who is serving is wearing one of those floral wrap-around aprons that dinner ladies used to wear. Nell’s glad that she got her rather than the lanky boy who’s dropping pieces of fish into the sizzling oil.
    ‘What oil do you cook your fish in?’
    ‘Palm oil,’ says the woman.
    ‘You’re absolutely sure it’s not groundnut?’
    Nell senses the queue behind her growing impatient. She feels like the person at the supermarket checkout who has two items in her basket and then decides to pay by credit card.
    ‘Absolutely sure, love.’
    ‘Do you cook anything with any nut ingredients?’
    ‘You don’t have to worry, love,’ the woman says. ‘My granddaughter’s at school with a child who has nut allergy, and she won’t let us have anything with nuts. We know how careful you have to be.’
    Nell smiles with relief. Normally it’s so difficult to explain and she ends up having to point at Lucy and say ‘she might die’ to emphasize the importance of getting accurate answers, but she trusts this woman.
    ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘Well, I’ll have two cod and chips, please. Frances ? Three cod and chips. To eat here.’
    ‘Sit down and I’ll bring them over,’ says the woman pointing at one of the empty tables by the window.
    Nell and Lucy sit down. When Frances joins them she’s carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses in her hands, and a small carton of apple juice wedged under her armpit.
    ‘Thanks. I completely forgot about drinks,’ Nell says.
    ‘So concerned about the ingredients list, you forgot the really important things,’ says Frances , pouring her a glass of wine.
    She’s joking, but it irritates Nell all the same. ‘I have to ask,’ she says.
    She glances at Lucy whose face is pressed against the window watching people hurrying past outside.
    ‘You’re hardly likely to find peanuts in a fish and chip shop, though, are you?’ Frances says.
    ‘In Scotland there was a case where they fried a Snickers bar in the same oil as the fish and that was enough to set one child off,’ says Nell.
    ‘They fried a Snickers bar?’ says Frances .
    ‘ Nickers bar?’ Lucy says giggling. She’s at the age where knickers is a very naughty word. She’s writing Lucy in large letters in the circle of condensation her breath has left on the window.
    ‘It’s sort of chocolate with peanuts in,’ Nell explains.
    ‘ Yuckarooney ,’ says Lucy. She picks up her knife and fork and holds them vertically on the table.
    ‘Does anyone know why

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