Virtual Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page B

Everest/MFI fund). And I’m unloved by everyone except Dan (reciprocated ten fold but absent), Dad (reciprocated, obviously, but guilt-inducing), Phil (not really reciprocated, and suffocating) and Ben (reciprocated tenfold again, but in any case suspect it is only provisional; dependent upon maternal decision re. newly proposed weekend in London with Dan. But thirteen is very young to be exposed to underground system/real ale/ragga etc.)
    Going to bed at half past eight is definitely not a good move, as I wake up at half past four. And fret almost hysterically about life/love/split ends/the fact that I am so sad that I have only two people to send emails to. Go to work and eat lunch at ten thirty five. Exceedingly long afternoon.
    [email protected]
    Dear Charlie,
    Bandying words like prophilaxis around now, are we? You must be fed up. Big apologies for previous brevity. We have indeed been very busy. But not so busy that the idea of you mooching around sulking and being obstreperous with your father isn’t good enough reason to say ‘stuff the spring cabbage. I must email Charlie.’
    Trouble is, there’s busy and there’s busy. And so little is happening here that I’m at a loss to know what to put. And just how much am I missing? Sound’s like back there’s where all the action is. And as you are clearly finding cyber-space such a rewarding and therapeutic outlet for your creative/emotional energies, please feel free to bang on at length about anything that takes your fancy (or mine, for that matter. Who’s currently hip?)
    Rose.
    Rose’s response, I note, when I discover this on Tuesday evening, came almost straight after my own was sent off. But when I telephone later, the ansafone answers. Matt again, this time, and at odds with the email;
    Out on the tiles, I’m afraid! We’re such slappers! And the babysitter’s french and won’t answer the phone. Leave a message, why don’t you?
    No thanks.
    [email protected]
    Dear Rose,
    Action! I wish! And where the hell are you now?
    The only action this week is yet another spate of high drama chez Willie JJ. Have decided that Hugh Chatsworth is not the man I thought he was (apart from possibly not being a man in the heterosexual sense, in any case, but that is neither here nor there.) He is such a low life! Will tell you all about it when I get hold of you - IF !
    Oh, and Ben had a real asthma attack yesterday (the boy who cried inhaler etc. etc.) and as a consequence failed to finish the school cross country heats, which has put him in a seriously bad mood as well. There’s so much sniping going on around here that I feel like I’m occupying a trench at the Somme.
    Charlie.
    PS Scrub that bit about the Somme. That was in very poor taste and not worthy of me. Particularly as it’s Poppy Week soon.
    Speaking of which, pop! An immediate response! Wish I understood better how land lines configured, as I cannot compute how Rose can send me an email while earlier evidence suggests she is out. But she has. If a short one.
    [email protected]
    Dear Charlie,
    I read in a book this week that the expression ‘over the top’ derives from the First World War. And it was actually used flippantly by civilians during the war, in fact, which must have irritated the soldiers somewhat. Why is Hugh Chatsworth a low life?
    Rose.
    I have decided that Hugh Chatsworth is not merely a low life, but a fat little soil living tick. Had a gratifying end to the morning as I had received an offer from the Pringles (my clients) for 62 Bryn Coch (Hugh’s clients’ house.) As Hugh was on viewings, I then telephoned Hugh’s clients, who were happy to accept the offer my clients had made. Lovely, lovely. Indeed, especially lovely, as I had already sold my client’s house too.
    Except not that lovely.
    When I called back Mr Pringle to tell him, his secretary told me he would be out until two. At which time, she promised, he’d call me straight back. Though he