Read Freeing Grace for Free Online Page B

leaped gallantly to his feet and stood to attention. He was every inch the dapper merchant seaman, weathered across the cheekbones, eyes a watery blue beneath the cloud-white sweep of his hair.
    ‘You’re working too hard,’ he gushed, straightening his tie. ‘Look at that, you’re wasting away!’
    ‘I wish,’ said Leila.
    She accepted a glass of apple juice and balanced on the edge of the sofa. She could sense Christopher watching her, a half-smile lifting his heavy brows as though they shared a little secret. He’d been handsome in his day, she grudgingly supposed. You could see the ghost of it still: the careful posture, proud features—strong, like David’s—coarsened now by gin and boredom.
    He leaned down to her. ‘Got any—what d’you call ’em?— gigs coming up, Leila?’
    ‘We’ve got a fiftieth birthday in Edgbaston tomorrow. Hospital administrator.’
    ‘Wish I could be there,’ sighed Christopher. ‘I love to hear you sing.’
    Hilda perched vigilantly in an armchair, legs neatly to one side like a little Persian cat. She looked powdered and tidy in a rose silk shirt, and not at all poisonous.
    ‘You were a saint to allow David to go into the church, Leila,’ she said, her voice dipped in syrup. ‘You’ve had to make so many terrible sacrifices. Living here. ’ Her disapproval seemed to encompass the little house, the dingy suburb, the great heaving mass of the West Midlands. ‘It’s worse than the last place. And no prospects.’
    David rubbed his nose, risking a surreptitious smile at Leila. ‘Depends what you call prospects, Mum.’ He held out a porcelain bowl. ‘Cashew?’
    ‘I mean real prospects, for your actual future,’ snapped Hilda, ignoring the peace offering. ‘Not airy-fairy celestial ones.’
    Christopher crossed the room to the drinks tray, unscrewed the gin, and helped himself. ‘Stop fussing, Hilda,’ he said amiably, with a small wink in Leila’s direction. ‘They’re bound for Lambeth Palace. David will make a very sporty archbishop.’
    ‘Only a matter of time!’ Leila was grateful for the vote of confidence. ‘And I’m fine. My job’s better paid here, actually, and there’s far more back-up. There are three of us pharmacists on duty at peak times. I can normally work Saturday and have Wednesday off with David.’
    ‘Kirkaldie’s,’ mumbled David, eating the cashews himself. ‘Near New Street Station. Pretty hectic. Leila seems to dispense a lot of methadone.’
    There was a cynical twist to Hilda’s lips. ‘Well, you won’t starve, then.’
    Christopher lowered himself stiffly into the seat next to Leila, suppressing a wince. ‘I’ve taken up golf,’ he confided, in an undertone. ‘What d’you think of that?’
    ‘Well . . . I’ve never played.’
    ‘Don’t.’ He leaned closer. ‘Boring people, pointless game.’ He gestured at his wife, who was obviously listening. ‘She makes me go. Gets me out of the house.’
    The doorbell. Angus and Elizabeth. Thank God.
    ‘Hello, hello!’ Elizabeth bustled in first, turning to shake her umbrella out onto the step. ‘Angus is parking the car—awful night—sorry we’re late. Come on , Angus! Leila’s standing in a howling gale!’
    Elizabeth’s voice was always a surprise; it didn’t match the rest of her. It was deep, like a drag queen’s, and had the huskiness of a chain-smoker, which Elizabeth wasn’t.
    Leila could see the rector’s stocky figure rambling up the path, a newspaper over his head, bearded and grizzled and good-humoured. Angus came from Inverness. Leila liked to picture him striding through the mist with a deer slung over his shoulders, or leaping to the bagpipes in a stone-flagged hall.
    ‘Good evening, Leila.’ Handing over a bottle of wine he shook himself, spraying droplets. ‘Something smells good. Sorry we’re late. Got caught in the off-licence by Dora.’
    ‘You don’t say. You’re not late, anyway. We’re just having drinks.’
    ‘Oh, good!’