‘Well, it comes to something when the best
you can all say about my new career is that it’s
better than hauling chicken carcasses around the
inside of an aircraft hangar,’ I said.
‘Well, you could always get fit in the meantime
and go and do some of your personal training
stuff with Patrick here.’
‘Get fit. Thanks, Dad.’ I had been about to
reach for another potato, and now changed my
mind.
‘Well, why not?’ Mum looked as if she might
actually sit down – everyone paused briefly, but
no, she was up again, helping Granddad to some
gravy. ‘It might be worth bearing in mind for the
future. You’ve certainly got the gift of the gab.’
‘She has the gift of the flab.’ Dad snorted.
‘I’ve just got myself a job,’ I said. ‘Paying
more than the last one too, if you don’t mind.’
‘But it is only temporary,’ Patrick interjected.
‘Your Dad’s right. You might want to start getting
in shape while you do it. You could be a
good personal trainer, if you put in a bit of effort.’
‘I don’t want to be a personal trainer. I don’t
fancy … all that … bouncing.’ I mouthed an insult
at Patrick, who grinned.
‘What Lou wants is a job where she can put
her feet up and watch daytime telly while feeding
old Ironside there through a straw,’ said
Treena.
‘Yes. Because rearranging limp dahlias into
buckets of water requires so much physical and
mental effort, doesn’t it, Treen?’
‘We’re teasing you, love.’ Dad raised his mug
of tea. ‘It’s great that you’ve got a job. We’re
proud of you already. And I bet you, once you
slide those feet of yours under the table at the big
house those buggers won’t want to get rid of
you.’
‘Bugger,’ said Thomas.
‘Not me,’ said Dad, chewing, before Mum
could say a thing