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with Oscar-winning skill.
    This was the umpteenth ‘hamper’ she’d sent for. Lou had received a T-shirt by way of a thanks once that would have fitted around a small infant school. The words ‘thank you’ weren’t actually said. Victorianna would have spontaneously combusted, had she had to say them. Her mum got a framed photo of Victorianna posing formally with live-in lover Edward J.R. Winkelstein the Third and his expensive hairweave, which wasn’t dissimilar in texture nor colour from Shredded Wheat. Victorianna looked like a younger, more glamorous version of Renee. He looked the way Lou would expect an Edward J.R. Winkelstein the Third to look.
    ‘Well, let me know when you’re going and I’ll come with you. She’s got a dinner-party soon and wants someof the stuff for then. I’ve got the mint chocolate disc things.’
    ‘OK, Mum. How about Tuesday?’
    ‘Yes, but no later otherwise she won’t get the stuff in time.’
    How tragic, thought Lou.
    ‘We could have been and gone in the amount of time you’ve been talking to that Michelle. You must have been on half an hour. And you want to check that email thing of yours. Your sister said she wrote two days ago.’
    ‘Well, I do have other things to do besides jump when Victorianna asks, Mum. And a please and thank you and a cheque for you wouldn’t go amiss. Doesn’t she realize how much you spend on these flaming hampers?’ said Lou. ‘You could have taken the stuff over yourself for how much it’s cost you in postage and packing.’ If your beloved daughter ever had the decency to invite you over there , she stopped herself from adding.
    ‘I am her mother. I don’t expect anything in return,’ said Renee pointedly.
    ‘Yes, but it’s not as if she’s poor. She’s always bragging about how loaded she and Baron Frankenstein are. Surely there’s room for you in one of the twelve bedrooms?’
    ‘Jealousy won’t get you anywhere, Elouise,’ said Renee, totally missing the point.
    Lou surrendered. ‘Tuesday then Mum, definitely,’ she said with a sigh.
    ‘Don’t go to any trouble if you’re busy. I can get a bus down.’
    If you can get someone to unnail you from your crossfirst, thought Lou. ‘It’s no trouble, I’ll pick you up Tuesday at nine,’ she said wearily.
    She put the phone down and vowed she wouldn’t answer it again. Everyone she seemed to speak to on it made her feel unreasonable and selfish. She badly needed this clutter-clearing session to make her feel as good as she had done cleaning out her drawer at work.
    ‘Right, to business,’ she said to herself with a big smile and a clap of the hands, and shook open a large black binliner in preparation.
    The spatulas were the first to go, then some tongs that had gone rusty in the dishwasher, then some grimy-looking toothpicks that had wriggled out of their packets. She aimed the old ice-cube tray that she never used into the bag. Used lolly sticks–what the hell had she kept those for? A broken melon-baller, a stencil brush, a once-used rice ball and a blunt vegetable peeler joined them.
    Be ruthless , the article had said. Ask yourself, ‘ Have I used it in the last six months (seasonal goods–allow one year? Am I likely to ever use it in the future?’ If the answer is no, can it go in a recycling bin, or to charity, or to a car-boot sale or be sold on eBay? No? Then throw it away without a second glance.
    Some things she questioned, such as the ancient can-opener that looked more like a medieval instrument of torture. It hadn’t worked for years, but had a handy bottle-opener at the top. But as she couldn’t remember the last time she had opened a bottle with it, she launched it at the binliner with the accuracy of a seven-foot-tall basketball player.
    When the drawer was completely emptied, shescrubbed it down, washed the utensils she was keeping and slotted the whole thing back. It was crazy how something as simple as throwing out some old rubbish gave her such