appraised her. Rose looked bored and turned to look out of the window. ‘Capable, organized, efficient.’
Rose turned back. ‘That makes me sound like a bank clerk.’
Fleur raised an eyebrow as if to say, And your point is? ‘She’s a great mother too,’ she continued, ‘and highly intelligent.’ Rose visibly relaxed a little. She’d prided herself on her high IQ and top grades all through school and university. ‘Bossy as hell. Hah. There are another three good words for her.’
‘Positive Fleur, keep it positive for now,’ warned Beverly.
‘OK. Um … great cook. She does a mean Sunday lunch, or rather did. I haven’t been invited for over three years and, yes, I am doing fine thank you very much, thanks for asking.’
Typical of Fleur. Making up her own rules as usual, I thought as I counted her words to describe Rose. A lot more than three. I glanced at Beverly. I suppose she saw people like us every day in her line of work. I wondered if she ever got sick of it, listening to people moaning on and having a go at each other. Her expression gave nothing away.
‘OK, now Rose, three words for Dee.’
Rose glanced at me. ‘New Age hippie.’
‘Is that said in a positive way?’ Beverly asked.
‘And I am not a hippie,’ I objected.
‘You went to art college,’ said Fleur. ‘You drink herbal tea, wear Eastern-style clothes.’
This time it was my turn to roll my eyes. ‘That does not make me a hippie. And I rarely drink herbal tea these days – that was a phase, not that you’d know.’
‘Let Rose speak,’ said Beverly.
‘It wasn’t meant in a negative way,’ said Rose. ‘I meant she’s idealistic, romantic, child of God, you know, Woodstock and all that. Creative. Talented. There.’
‘And Fleur, what would you say about Dee?’ asked Beverly.
Fleur pouted. ‘Rose nicked my words. I was going to say creative, talented.’ I almost laughed again. Half a day in each other’s company and we’d reverted back to being nine-year-olds; Fleur sulking because someone had used something of hers. I remembered endless tantrums if anyone dared to touch anything that belonged to her, and God forbid if either of us ever tried to borrow any of her clothes.
‘I’m sure you can think of some others, Fleur.’
Fleur looked at me. ‘Er … happy. Yes, you’re a happy person Dee, sunny, or you were … Er …’
Yes, I was, I thought. I felt flattered she’d used the word happy to describe me, but also sad that I didn’t think it applied any more. I wondered if Beverly would ask us to use three words to describe ourselves. Mine for me would be: wrinkly, disappointed, broke.
Fleur looked over at Rose. ‘I know two good words for Dee. Animal-lover.’
Rose laughed but it came out as a snort. Beverly looked at her quizzically.
‘Family joke,’ said Rose. She looked annoyingly pleased.
‘Not a joke shared by me,’ I said. I knew they were referring to Max and Misty and probably saw me as a mad old cat lady.
‘OK, let’s stay focused,’ said Beverly. ‘Now we’re going to say what you don’t like. Dee. Why don’t you go first again, and remember to speak to them, not to me.’
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