Sylvia Garland's Broken Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

forever to get here,” Jeremy whispered back, “and anyway
she
wanted it this way round.”
    “Oh,” Smita said nastily. “Of
course
.” Then, relenting, she asked, “Apart from the weather, what on earth was she talking to Mrs Castellini
about
?”
    “Mrs Castellini was offering her condolences,” Jeremy whispered. “Actually she was rather nice.”
    “How did she
know
?” Smita whispered.
    Jeremy looked a little uncomfortable. “I happened to have a chat with her a few weeks back. I told her that my father had died.”
    Smita was amazed and rather put out. She whispered, “I thought we weren’t talking to them until they agreed to redecorate the common parts.”
    Jeremy shrugged. Before he could continue, they were both alarmed by a sudden squawk and a loud thud from the bathroom. They exchanged glances. Jeremy ran over to the bathroom door and called loudly, “Mum? Are you ok?”
    The door opened and Sylvia hobbled bravely out. “My, your tiles are slippery!” she exclaimed, rubbing her hip. “I nearly fell, you know. Thank goodness, I managed to grab onto the towel rail and save myself.”
    Smita made a mental note to check the towel rail for damage and, sure enough, when she slipped discreetly into the bathroom a little while later, the towel rail was visibly lopsided and there were cracks running across two of the tiles to which it was fastened. Smita was livid. Sylvia couldn’t care less of course. Why, she hadn’t even noticed. She hadn’t been in the house for five minutes and already she was wreaking havoc. There was naturally no point in complaining to Jeremy. He would just say it was an accident and thank God his mother hadn’t been badly hurt. So Smita contented herself with writing “Call tiler” in large legible handwriting on the To Do board in thekitchen and she hoped that Jeremy would notice it pretty soon.
    He settled his mother comfortably on the cream couch and brought her a drink. Smita would rather he had seated her anywhere else for she would surely spill her drink but at least to start with Sylvia opted for tonic water only so Smita was grateful for that.
    She carried on preparing the lunch, resentful that she should be working away in the kitchen when she felt so terrible while Jeremy sat across the room with his feet up, talking to his mother. If she was honest with herself, she would
rather
be in the kitchen than talking to his mother, but still.
    Lunch seemed to be an ordeal for all three of them. Smita could only manage some rice and, while Sylvia made a great display of appreciation, in actual fact she only picked at her food which made Smita feel even more resentful, considering all the effort she had gone to. The only one who ate heartily was Jeremy, taking big demonstrative second helpings of lamb and rice and dal. Smita knew he was doing it partly to placate her and partly because, with his mouth permanently full, there was no way he could be expected to take part in the conversation.
    Nobody seemed to have a great deal to say. Sylvia whose chatter normally drove them both to distraction was distinctly subdued; her bereavement and the overnight flight, Smita supposed. She herself was feeling so dreadful – and depressed now too – that it was an effort simply to keep up appearances and Jeremy who mighthave been expected to jolly things along seemed to have decided to opt out and eat himself into an early grave.
    In order to fill a particularly long silence, Sylvia told them for the second time the not terribly interesting story of the Russian gentleman who, it turned out, was no gentleman at all who had helped her with her case. Even though Jeremy and Smita had agreed many times before that if an old person started to repeat herself, it was a kindness to point it out to her, there was no response from Jeremy beyond a non-committal noise and leaning across to take a couple more spoonfuls of raita.
    Smita would have made the effort, would have contributed
something
if