A Life Less Lonely Read Online Free PDF Page A

previous call had caught her mother in the bathroom or even outside, topping up the birdseed containers.
    “Finish your cornflakes, sweetheart,” Andrea watched Josh push his treasured miniature tank round and round the rim of his bowl. With a pang, she realised Greg would probably have addressed their son as ‘mate.’
    “Vroom, vroom.” Josh completed another circuit.
    Andrea counted to ten. Was she invisible? Probably yes, when competing with a toy Challenger war machine. And still her mother didn’t reply. Rosemary never switched on the answer phone, despite Andrea’s coaxing. She sighed as she replaced the handset. Well, she’d planned on going round there that morning anyway, as soon as she dropped Josh off.
    The little boy recommencing sessions at the university crèche formed part of Andrea’s mother and son routine. So far, he’d happily latched on to one of the helpers, leaving Andrea relieved at becoming superfluous. Josh seemed to have climbed another rung on the independence ladder, and all in the course of a couple of weeks. He’d miss the loving rough and tumble relationship enjoyed with his dad but Andrea had no siblings and male role models for her son were in short supply. She’d always kept fit but any commando course she constructed would probably be viewed as a wobbly blancmange.
    “Josh, let’s see if you can clear your bowl before I finish putting my face on. Pretend you’re a big digger like the one we watched on the building site the other day.” She reached for her tube of tinted moisturiser. That and a coat of lip-gloss would be all she needed. Yesterday she applied full eye make-up before leaving the house. Subtle bronze eye shadow and lash-enhancing mascara weren’t necessary to boost her CV but they sure as heck helped boost her confidence. Fortunately Josh was demolishing his breakfast as if his favourite cereal was about to be banned.
    ***
    On the way back to her car after dropping off her little boy, Andrea saw the irony of her situation. As Josh grew from babyhood and developed into the strong young man she knew he would, so her own mother regressed. This thought pierced her like a needlepoint while she wove her way through back streets towards the quiet cul-de-sac where her mother lived. Rosemary had moved from her former home near Hartnett and into the bungalow two years before, at a decent interval after Andrea’s dad died.
    “It’s not fair,” she muttered, turning the corner. First her mother left alone and vulnerable and now here she was, widowed at age 37. She’d always been independent, enjoying her own company and preferring to have one special woman confidante to several. Andrea didn’t take after her mum. She was hopeless at girly stuff and would have been the same had she trained as an accountant or air traffic controller instead of an anthropologist. Boy, had those five syllables been a passion killer back in her dating days.
    Andrea parked her car in her mother’s driveway and cut the engine. She lingered a few moments, staring ahead, recalling Greg’s curiosity about her work the night they first met at a party that clashed with her favourite TV programme. Most of the men she’d dated viewed her as out of their league. Or else they made strange gestures at her as they performed squirm-inducing gorilla impressions. That evening, she gritted her teeth and put on a little black dress.
    “You don’t have to pretend to be interested,” she’d said, looking up at the powerfully built man with the kind eyes that she later went on to fall in love with. “I’m a doctor. But I don’t use a stethoscope these days. I’m hung up on anthropology. There, if I say it quickly, you’ll hardly notice. So, tell me what your job is.”
    He’d shuffled his feet, mumbling something about being an overgrown squaddie. They both laughed.
    “I’ve never met a major before,” she told him. “Should I salute?’
    ‘I’d prefer it if we could find somewhere quiet to