“I wish she would take up her art again – it would stop her fretting so much.”
In the restaurant, I phone Nigel, back from his parents, and pottering. I suspect he will have been tinkering with his home-made wine.
Later, in the hotel, Perran reads up on his open day and I phone Pascoe. He is slightly lonely in a hotel room in Glasgow, preparing for his PhD interview tomorrow. He deserves to do well. The one person who is incommunicado is Carenza in Berlin. It is the last night of her school trip and I hpe that she is having fun, although obviously in a completely moderate and sedate manner.
As I get ready for bed, I see there is a voice message on my mobile. It is rom my mother. Apparently, I didn’t press the button to end our call so she had to stand for ages listening to me walking round Bristol, not realising she could end it by putting the pone down. Perran looked worried. “Did we say anything about her just after we spoke to her?”
I think back.
“It might have been a good thing if she heard it.”