Talking to Strange Men Read Online Free PDF

Alice Hoffman, Jennifer had had, and Thalia. And later, when she had invited him to the flat, he had seen how well they were doing. They looked wonderful, those window boxes, he couldn’t have done better himself. He couldn’t understand, though, why she hadn’t held on to her mother’s house that had a garden to go with it. It had never crossed his mind to sell the house when his own parents died. That was one of the things they had in common, he and Jennifer, it had struck him at once, both of them losing their mothers within weeks of each other.
    â€˜My mother died a year ago and I came in for her house, so I sold it and bought this flat. I moved in two weeks ago and there were these empty window boxes.’
    â€˜My mother died a year ago too – well, a year and two months.’
    She smiled at him, rather sadly. She was a quiet-looking girl. Modest was the word that came into his mind. He could remember exactly what she had been wearing on that first occasion: a pleated skirt in a check pattern, two shades of brown, a camel-coloured sweater over a white shirt, brown shoes, very well-polished, with low heels but not flat shoes.Not a scrap of make-up, she never wore make-up. Her hair was a bright sparkling yellow-brown that hung to her shoulders. No, not ‘hung’, flew out and curled in its abundance like a chrysanthemum. He had never seen a face so soft as hers and so expressive. The skin was soft and the lips, the rather full cheeks, the thick furry eyebrows and the liquid eyes. Of course it was Cherry she looked like, though he hadn’t realized that then, not understanding at that time that one woman can resemble another though one is ugly and the other beautiful.
    He had packed up all the plants in two cardboard boxes for her and carried them out to the car a friend had brought her along in. Of course it wouldn’t have crossed his mind then to ask if he could see her again. He didn’t go out with girls. But she came back to replace Thalia and the alyssum because they had died or something had eaten them up and it was then, because they hadn’t another Thalia in stock, that he said he would bring one round to her as soon as they came in. There was in fact no question of their ‘coming in’, Trowbridge’s grew all their own fuchsias, but John had selected one of his own plants for her from his own greenhouse.
    When was all that? May? June? The May of nearly three years ago, he thought. It can’t have been on that occasion but maybe the next time they met that she told him about Peter Moran and he told her about Cherry . . .
    Most of the fuchsia cuttings had taken and were looking good. John had a look at the thermometer. Fifteen degrees – which he was getting used to saying instead of sixty – not bad for the end of March with the heat only on low. Easter was coming. Tomorrow would be Good Friday. John didn’t enjoy holidays these days. Marriage had taught him loneliness. Maybe Colin would come over. And there was always his aunt to whose house on the other side of the city he had a standing invitation. Don’t go over to Jennifer’s, don’t hang about outside Jennifer’s, he found himself muttering as he returned to the shop. Sharon at the check-out eyed him.
    â€˜Just reminding myself to take a look at the fish before we close up, Sharon.’
    He didn’t really approve of garden centres selling goldfishand birds and whatever, but you had to keep up with the times. Shubunkins swam around in a leisurely fashion among the elodia and the water hawthorn. They looked healthy enough. It was a mystery why they all seemed to die as soon as customers got them home. Still, he wasn’t a fish expert. Trowbridge’s had better get an ichthyologist in if it bothered them, some out-of-work ex-college boy. Everyone seemed to have degrees nowadays, he wouldn’t be surprised if even Sharon had a BSc in computer sciences.
    It was