Rumours and Red Roses Read Online Free Page B

promiscuous and there had been just the one man since her father died. You couldn’t blame her mum for that for she had been widowed young but that relationship with Alan had petered out, even if it had continued to be on and off for years. The trouble was, the way she dressed put most men off and that upset Becky because how could she tell her mum something like that without offending her? She had tried the discreet approach, trying to steer her away from anything too tarty or tacky when they were shopping together, but that hadn’t worked. Her mum always made a bee-line for the rack adorned with the most sparkle, which ought to have had a warning sign over it saying that nobody over the age of fifty was allowed to make a purchase.
    Ever since she had broken up with Terry, even though it had been the right thing to do, Becky had felt down in the dumps, with the future looking increasingly bleak. She was a born saver, had managed somehow to put together a few thousand in a savings account, but that was for emergencies, her backup. She was fed up of scratching around. Even though she had a steady job, it didn’t pay that well and she still couldn’t afford to move into her own place. Unless she won the lottery, there was no hope of that happening in the near future. Living at home with her mum, even though there was loads of room with just the two of them, was not ideal for a woman in her thirties. And, although she hated to admit it, her mum was right in a way. She was not getting any younger and it was no longer quite so easy to meet a man. The options were closing in on her.
    She checked her watch as the staffroom door flew open and her colleague Marina rushed in. Marina’s chestnut-brown hair was cut into a perfect structured style, silky smooth with never a hair out of place.
    ‘What a shitty morning I’ve had. I hate kids,’ she said with a shudder. ‘I’m never having any. Motherhood is overrated in my opinion. I can’t believe that child I’ve just had in. I mean to say, school shoes are school shoes, aren’t they? Crap style, black and boring. Her mummy kept asking the little cow if she liked them and she kept on shaking her head. What sort of question is that? My mummy never asked me. I just had to wear whatever she bought me. On second thoughts, I don’t believe she ever took me shoe shopping. I used to go with Nanny. I know …’ She smiled at Becky’s little snort of disbelief. ‘My upbringing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. At least your mum stayed around. She didn’t shoot off at the first opportunity to shack up with a guy half her age. She even stopped sending birthday cards after the first year. At the last count, she was somewhere in Switzerland. God alone knows where and do I give a shit.’
    ‘No, well …’ Becky floundered, never knowing what to say when Marina uttered these indiscretions about her family, whether to sympathize or simply laugh it off as Marina seemed to do. They were a funny lot and no mistake. She had never realized before that there were so many goings on in Marina’s world. She had always thought of her own upbringing as colourful with Uncle Alan taking root for a few months before disappearing but Marina’s mum made her mum seem like the reverent mother.
    Marina worked part-time, Friday and Saturdays only, and she did not take the job remotely seriously. Behind her back, some of the other girls scathingly called her a posh bitch but, because she liked her, Becky didn’t join in. This job was all a bit of a lark for her, but despite that, despite the fact that Marina did not really need the money but was just doing it because her father had threatened to stop paying her allowance unless she did something for a while, Marina was still immensely likeable . Being a shoe fanatic, forty-two pairs at the last count, working with shoes was her idea of heaven.
    ‘Now, Becky …’ She poured herself a cup of coffee, black no sugar. ‘Put that book away. You are