‘That’s just as well, dearie,’ Carol replied. ‘I was dreading the day I’d be called to cooking service. I can’t even boil an egg.’

The phone rang.

An order for a delivery at 8 p.m.

‘Ding-dong!’ said Carol. ‘Let’s hope there are many more of those tonight, as I’ve become quite partial to doing the rounds.’

‘Tomorrow is D-Day,’ said Sally.

‘D for what? Disaster?’

‘I hope not. No. Marcel is going to name his price.’

‘I thought he was waiting for everyone to come back?’

‘No. He’s telling us the price but we don’t have to reply until we’ve made a unanimous decision.’

‘Fine!’ Carol crossed herself. ‘It’s enough to turn one to religion. Oh to be free!’

She looked around the dining room. ‘Though, candidly, once this is all gone and we’ve all got our money back, I’m not really sure what I’ll do with my time.’

‘To tell the truth,’ replied Sally, ‘me neither. But we can’t carry on like this, can we?’

‘No, not like this.’ Carol walked from table to table, doling out side plates from a large pile. ‘But I’m going to find a way to lead us back to glory days . . . Jeez, we’ve got to. I’ll never be able to keep up my paradise pad without regular spondulix. You know, hon, Nice is starting to pick up.’ Nudging Sally, Carol winked. ‘The Italians are back and I—’

The phone interrupted her. Another home-delivery order. This one for just after eight.

‘So, Carol, at the busiest time, you’ll be off on the road. Leaving me to it.’

‘Oh, you’ll be fine, darl. Yesterday was a freak day. Get in, gal – it’ll be gorgeous tonight. You mark my words.’

Eleven

ELEVEN

Theresa sat in Imogen’s office while Mervin, the technology teacher, fiddled about with the smartphone.

‘The trouble with these programs,’ said Mervin, pulling on his shaggy beard while shaking his head, ‘is that to communicate you can ask a person to be your friend, but before you can converse they do need to accept. And why is he going to accept you, Mrs Firbank, when you are his ex-head teacher?’

Imogen let out an exasperated sigh.

‘I have an idea that lying, perhaps pretending that you’re one of the kids in his old class, would make it quicker getting through to the lad.’ Mervin sat pushing the ends of his beard up towards his lips with nail-bitten fingers. ‘This social-networking stuff is more their domain, after all.’

‘I wonder what I pay you for,’ snapped Imogen. ‘You’re meant to know more than your pupils, not go to them for assistance.’