The sky stamped its feet and made a lot of noise but its energies were soon spent. The sun chased away the weakened grey clouds and the wind stilled. Within half an hour the strange, puffy, fake clouds were back spoiling things again. ‘Anyone fancy a limp down to the pub?’ asked Lara at teatime. ‘We could have a bar meal and some very expensive drinks at offcumden prices.’ ‘Will you manage?’ asked Clare. ‘I’ll find out,’ replied Lara, not ruling out the possibility that Gene Hathersage had designed the crutch to fall to pieces after forty paces so she’d fall and sprain her other ankle. She immediately admonished herself for being so mean. After Clare had told them about his ex-wife, Colleen, she’d played his words back in her head and found that, as he had claimed, he’d actually been a realist, not a sexist. He was right: women could be every bit as evil as men. Take Tianne Lee, for instance. A first-class bitch if ever there was one.
