Hubble Bubble by Christina Jones

that he seemed to want to kiss her all over as he did so made the process a little more awkward than usual. Lulu buried her face in Richard and Judy and giggled.
    The goodbyes said, and having waved Doll and Brett off with a warm glow of happiness, Mitzi switched off the lights on the devastation in the kitchen and wandered back into the living room.
    ‘Two out of three,’ Lu untangled her feet from her long skirts and hauled herself upright. ‘Not bad, Mum. Not bad at all … And are you sure you don’t want to clear this lot up tonight?’
    ‘Positive. We’ll probably feel a bit more normal in the morning after a night’s sleep. But even I have to admit that Brett’s behaviour isn’t – wasn’t – well, in character.’
    ‘Poor Doll,’ Lu shuddered, kissing her mother before wobbling across the living room. ‘Thanks to Granny Westward she’ll have to endure a night of passion with Postman Brett. Just think about it – no don’t! I mean, Boring Brett and our Doll all loved-up! Yuk! Just shows – you really should be careful what you wish for … Night then … I’m off to dream blameless dreams about our new next-door neighbour.’
    Alone in the firelight, Mitzi changed Abba for the Rolling Stones and trilled along with Mick and the boys generously sharing their ‘19th Nervous Breakdown’. Richard and Judy stretched in front of the fire, and Mitzi joined them on the rug. It had been a wonderful evening, although very, very strange – Shay arriving, and then Brett’s totally uncharacteristic behaviour. And both so soon after they’d made their wishes. It was simply coincidence, of course. Nothing else. Funny though, and maybe, just maybe, there was something in this herbalism.
    Over the weekend, she’d ring all the people who’d answered her Baby Boomer advert in the library, and arrange a meeting in the village hall. Booking the village hall would, of course, mean she’d have to face TarniaSnepps, and there would no doubt be the usual battle over who was really in charge. Tarnia, if she thought the Baby Boomers Collective might improve her image, would try to muscle in. As usual.
    Mitzi tapped her fingers as Mick and the boys roared into ‘It’s All Over Now’. Perhaps she ought to study Granny Westward’s recipe book more closely. There may well be something in the recipes to help her steal a march on the Botox Queen of Hazy Hassocks. Empowerment or something along those lines. Ginseng in the ginger nuts or caraway in the custard creams.
    The phone rang. Groaning, Mitzi glanced at the clock. Gone midnight. It was probably a wrong number. Someone drunkenly wanting a taxi or a kebab delivery. Not bothering to stand up, she rolled towards the handset.
    ‘Hello … oh, Lance, these late-night calls are becoming a bit of a habit, aren’t they? What’s the matter? Is Jennifer listening in on the extension? She’s where? Doing what? No, I’m not laughing … honestly. But that’s what you get for marrying someone from Chigwell. French manicures and facial detox weekends … Hmmm … What? No, I promise I’m not laughing … what? Oh, don’t be silly, Lance – of course you don’t! Tomorrow? No, I don’t think so – honestly. I’m very busy. Give me a ring in the week, okay? Sorry – goodnight.’
    Irritably, she clicked off the phone and threw it under the cushions. Mick and Co. were warbling ‘Under My Thumb’.
    Mitzi cuddled Richard and Judy and sighed heavily. Bloody hell. Why had Lance chosen tonight, of all nights, to tell her how much he still needed and loved her?

Chapter Six
    ‘I know it’s a cliché, but I really, really hate Monday mornings,’ Lulu grumbled as she burrowed deeply into the kitchen’s avalanche cupboard, trying to find a matching boot. ‘But then, if Mondays were part of the weekend I suppose I’d hate Tuesdays instead …’ She sighed heavily. ‘What I really need is a life of total indolence.’
    ‘Not unlike the one you have now, then,’ Mitzi