Skeletons Read Online Free PDF Page B

they wanted more tea, or if they’d heard about the plans to build new homes on a local field that Jen had played rounders on, once, thirty years ago – or to the far more lively and joyous environs of Jason’s parents’ home.
    Every Sunday morning, when Jen woke up, her first thought was always to work out whether she was in for a day of pleasure or pain. This week, thankfully, it had been pleasure.

7
    Jen had brought with her: a bag stuffed with a large pumpkin she had picked up at the farmers’ market and that she knew was the perfect size and shape to be carved by Amelia, and to adorn the front step later in the month; a copy of a free
magazine that had been put through her door that contained an article on the Bloomsbury set, which she thought her mother-in-law might find interesting; and a scarf for Charles that she had found in one of the more upmarket charity shops and knew would compliment his favourite autumn
overcoat.
    She liked it best when the whole family was there. You never really knew who was coming until you arrived. It was an open house. No need to book. Amelia would always cook enough to feed a small country, and whoever turned up turned up. Jen had
sometimes wondered if her in-laws had to eat Sunday-lunch leftovers all week, some weeks. In fact, she knew they did. Charles had often joked about it.
    ‘Any word from Jess?’ she said to Jason as they drove up through Richmond.
    ‘Coming, I think.’
    She reached over and rubbed the back of his head. With his three-day-old stubble and the new grade-two-all-over haircut he had finally resorted to (after catching sight of his recently acquired balding spot in a random
combination of mirrors in a department store changing room, which meant he got a rare glimpse of the back of his own head), Jen had started to think he looked a little like a fuzzy tennis ball. It suited him. Gave him a sort of rugged Action Man look that was
completely at odds with his character. Jason Statham with a soft spot for kittens. Christian Bale with a penchant for Aran jumpers.
    ‘I still can’t get used to it,’ she said, referring to his shorn hair. ‘You look like a squaddie.’
    Jason raised an eyebrow, a habit that used to make her go weak at the knees when she had first met him. ‘Oh, you like that, huh?’
    ‘That depends. Can you do a hundred press-ups and run twenty miles in boots that are too big for you?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Liar.’
    ‘OK, but I could do about eight press-ups and run two miles if I had very comfy trainers. But I need the ones that are built up on one side because I over-pronate.’
    ‘Right, you pass the test.’
    ‘Really?’ he said, taking her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘You’re that easy?’
    Jen laughed. ‘Desperate is the word. You’re basically the best I can do.’
    Jen and Jason’s initial attraction had been one of those eyes-across-a-crowded-room, I-have-no-idea-who-you-are-but-I-want-to-throw-you-on-the-floor-and-ravage-you kind of things. From her point of view, at least. She had always assumed he
had felt the same, although – who
knew? – maybe he just hadn’t had the energy to fight her off. After all, trying to set up a production of a mind-numbingly pretentious new play, written by a local would-be Harold Pinter, with a bunch of
amateurs light on talent but heavy on attitude was exhausting, he’d told her the first time they had stayed behind after rehearsals to share a warm can of lager that he had produced from his bag.
    ‘Rewrite it,’ Jen had said, offering him a drag on her cigarette. ‘You’re the director, I’m sure that’s your prerogative. Make it so all the ones who are rubbish die by the end of Act One.’
    Jason had laughed. ‘I don’t think that would be allowed. This is community theatre. It’s meant to be inclusive.’
    Jen had yawned and stretched, noticing, with satisfaction, that Jason couldn’t resist checking her out as she did