Next of Kin (1997)
“Fishing, maybe.’ She sat at Lyndsay’s kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of her. She had refused a slice of the banana bread Lyndsay had made. All her life, Dilys had eaten regular amounts of excellent old-fashioned food without really thinking about it, but just recently she had noticed that her clothes were tighter, that, when she stooped to pick things up from the floor, or unplug the Hoover, her lungs felt as if they were being compressed from within, by bolsters. This was a pity. The... banana bread looked just as she liked it, nicely risen with sultanas scattered through it. That was exactly how it ought to look, mind you. After all, it was she who had taught Lyndsay to make it.
‘Harry and I went to Ireland once, fishing. On the West Coast. It was beautiful. I expect these days you could fly straight there, from Manchester.’ Lyndsay said, ‘He wouldn’t come.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘He won’t think about holidays. You know that.’ ‘I know nothing of the sort,’ Dilys said sharply.MoreLess
‘Harry and I went to Ireland once, fishing. On the West Coast. It was beautiful. I expect these days you could fly straight there, from Manchester.’ Lyndsay said, ‘He wouldn’t come.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘He won’t think about holidays. You know that.’ ‘I know nothing of the sort,’ Dilys said sharply.MoreLess
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