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She took a tea towel from the draining board and ran outside, grabbed Paul by the arm to stop him rolling in it. A good wipe produced his face looking sorry for itself; Simon fetched a bucket.
“With any luck it’ll rain again,” she said to the other mothers who held their glasses of white wine close to their chests. Simon threw water over the remains of Paul’s stomach, watery chocolate spew washed across the trampoline and dripped between the hinges.
Kate followed Janet to the front door.
“You don’t have to go. Don’t go. Bridget’s fine. I mean, I’m sure she’s fine. I’m taking Maureen back on…
The skinny
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