Read Thicker Than Soup for Free Online Page A

have….”
    He cut in. “Diane, I don’t want to fall out with you over it. I can see your side too. In fact I think you both had valid points. So the choices are to either accept the differences and move on or end a great friendship.”
    â€œJohn, you’ve made your point.” They drove on for a few minutes. “Are you sure about the spaghetti?”
    â€œY’know what? I’m going to London.” It was a spur of the moment idea, and crazy, but sometimes it was right to be crazy.
    â€œTonight? You old romantic, you.” They’d arrived at Diane’s house. “Malik’s here. Are you sure you don’t need a hand to offload the stuff?”
    Assuring her that he and his father could manage he rejoined the jam of vehicles vying for end of the day space. In urging Diane to make up he’d suddenly yearned to be with Sally. He loved her and wanted to be with her – even at her mother’s. He pictured her thick, almost black curly hair that she plaited at night and her prominent cheekbones with the three pinprick scars that twitched when she laughed – the curse of chickenpox in childhood – and her exotic blue eyes inherited from her Pathan grandmother, fringed as they were with rich, dark lashes that didn’t need mascara to frame them. He thought too, of her determination, her optimism, even the quick temper that was soon tamed. They were her and he saw and understood them. They were specific, unlike the preciousness, the shared desire that excluded all else when they made love, and the shared intimacy that was so mysterious and fragile. Over the years he’d dared to trust love and worry less that beautiful Sally, one day, might find him wanting.
    *
    His father must have been waiting; he was out of the house and opening the van before the engine had been turned off. “Good day was it?”
    John pursed his lips as he unlocked the back of the van. “So so.”
    â€œBy the way, your mother wants you to sign something for the bank. She told me to tell you.” Michael hovered at John’s shoulder as the rear doors opened. “My goodness! You’ve enough here to start a restaurant.”
    *
    The icy air chilled and once unloaded John was glad of the warmth of the house and a hot drink. Keen to be on his way, he told his parents quickly of Alain’s proposal. “So I think we should formalise the money you’ve lent me.” Frances started to protest but John shook his head. “It’s important Mum. Alain will have a share of the profits so I need to make sure that they’re clear of all expenses – including your time and your money. It all needs to be recorded. Properly.”
    Frances sliced banana cake. She’d done the books for Neil Jackson, supplier of fruit and vegetables to supermarkets and green grocers, for more than twenty years and was friends with him and his wife, Linda, who had gifted the cake. “We’ll sort it out.” She passed cake to John and then Michael. “I wish Neil didn’t buy so many bananas!”
    *
    The winter freeze had emptied the roads and by ten-thirty he’d driven through Bethnal Green and into the supermarket car park. Leaving his car next to night staff cars he walked briskly past the children’s playground, empty of even the older kids who usually hung out there until late. The icy wind burned at his ears and covering them with his gloved hands he almost ran along the indistinguishable rows of identical houses. Yes, he was on Coventry Street; he saw the corner shop with Rasheed behind the counter, ready to serve anyone at any hour. Seven doors more and then two brass ‘3’s above the letterbox. He knocked gently and waited. His ears stung with cold and he knocked again, harder this time. There was movement and a voice inside.
    â€œSally. It’s me. Let me in.” Bolts grated and a security chain rattled. Pushing through the