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says we couldn’t stipulate the – er – sex.’
    ‘Gender,’ Lavender looked shocked. ‘She means gender. But no, apparently we couldn’t because it’s not politically correct – tosh! – so we had to leave it at “person”. Most unsatisfactory. Still, at least we’ll get someone medical who can help us with our little ailments.’
    Mitzi privately thought that by advertising in the doctor’s surgery Lav and Lob were far more likely to attract someone who was even more unstable and infirm than they were. And that any lodger unfortunate enough to take up residence would starve to death within a fortnight. She smiled encouragingly. ‘It’s a lovely idea, but I like to keep the girls’ rooms ready for them – just in case – so I don’t have room for a lodger.’
    The Bandings clicked their dentures in sync at this shortsightedness.
    ‘Oh, you’ll find plenty to keep you amused without all that old duck’s nonsense,’ Clyde said quietly. ‘Far better things to spend your time on. There’s a fair bit of scandal and skulduggery afoot in Hazy Hassocks that you won’t have noticed being a nine-to-fiver and away from here most of the time.’
    ‘Really? Are Otto and Boris watering down the beer in the pub, then? Or is Mrs Elkins at Patsy’s Pantry overcharging for the iced fancies?’
    Clyde stroked his moustache. ‘Oh, you may mock, my girl, but the village isn’t the little haven of tranquillity it looks on the surface. There’s a lot of bad stuff going on. You could do worse than to get yourself elected to the parish council and start sorting out the wrong ’uns.’
    ‘Me? But I’ve never been political—’
    ‘And you’ve never been unemployed neither,’ Clyde said stoically. ‘The council could do with fresh blood to purge the backhander brigade and you’ll probably be glad of something to get your teeth into, seeing as you’ll have—’
    ‘—so much time on my hands,’ Mitzi finished for him before he could possibly send the entire room to sleep with stories of Hazy Hassocks’s similarity to Watergate. ‘Yes, Iknow. Oh … that sounds like the front door opening. Must be Doll with the chips. Excuse me …’
    Practically sprinting out of the living room and across the hall, Mitzi tugged her elder daughter through the half-open door. The dark chill evening rushed in behind her, accompanied by a spat of rain and a flurry of dead leaves.
    ‘My saviour,’ Mitzi kissed Doll expansively, kicking the door closed. ‘You’ve just rescued me from promising to dedicate my declining years to knitting and bingo, and taking in lodgers, and boring the socks off myself on the council, and cleaning the sleaze out of Hazy Hassocks and—’
    ‘Have you been drinking?’ Doll surveyed her mother as she shed her suede coat and long woollen scarf and carefully hung them on the hall stand. ‘You have, haven’t you? God – not one of Clyde’s concoctions?’
    ‘Well, yes, but only a little glass. And I’m not drunk, honestly, although I can’t say the same for Lulu.’
    ‘Blimey,’ Doll grinned. ‘Is she here? Did she remember all on her own?’
    ‘Not exactly,’ Mitzi admitted, leading the way into the kitchen. ‘She’s left Niall. Again. Oh, those chips smell so good! I didn’t realise how hungry I was. Shall we have plates or eat them out of the paper?’
    ‘Paper, definitely. It’ll save washing up and it always tastes better. Oh, nice flowers – chrysanths. Very funereal. Very fitting.’ Doll grinned as she opened a separate parcel of piquant, steaming cod and distributed it into the washing basket. The purrs and squeaks indicated that Richard and Judy found it more than acceptable. ‘So why have Lu and Niall split up this time?’
    ‘No idea. We didn’t get that far. Probably something to do with her forgetting to remember something vital as usual.’
    Doll leaned against the gaily coloured kitchen table. ‘More likely something to do with Niall being a Grade A prat.