Naked Truths by Jo Carnegie Page A

Moschino T-shirt when I was three.’
    â€˜I’m sure Milo won’t mind you borrowing them,’ quipped Caro. ‘Would you mind keeping him entertained while I check my emails? Mummy says Camilla’s sent us all one about her travels and I’m dying to hear what she’s been up to.’
    But to her surprise, her grandmother’s name was at the top of the inbox. Despite repeated instructions on how to use hotmail, her grandmother had up till then resisted.
    â€˜Quite frankly, I don’t see the point. I can just pick up the phone and ring you in half the time it takes to lag on to that thing.’
    â€˜I think you mean log, Granny Clem,’ Caro had told her.
    But there it was, Clementine Standington-Fulthrope. Caro smiled. The name looked incongruous sitting there, next to a spam mail for penis enlargement. She clicked on it and opened the email. It was blank.
    â€˜Oh!’ said Caro. Maybe Clementine hadn’t got to grips with it after all. Scanning down the other list of names, she saw another email from Camilla and one from her mother. No reply to the one she had sent her youngest sister last week, but staying in touch wasn’t one of Calypso’s strongest points. A few lines further down was her grandmother’s name again. This time she struck lucky.
    To: Caro Towey
    From: Clementine Standington-Fulthrope
    Subject: Hello!
    Darling, are you there? This really is the most ridiculous contraption, I tried to send you one earlier, but then the blasted screen went all funny and I lost all the words. I saw Jack Turner in the shop earlier; he was kind enough to pop over before he opened the Jolly Boot to show me how to use it. So here we are. I must admit, I’m rather at a loss for words. What is one supposed to write? Does no one write letters any more? Oh, I must tell you what Brenda told me when she came over to clean this morning. You’ll never guess who got so drunk at the church barbecue they had to be carried home in Ted Briggs’s wheel barrow . . .
    Some time later Caro had worked her way through all her emails, including one from Benedict’s twenty-eight-year-old sister, Amelia, who was working in Moscow and having the time of her life.
    Drinking more vodka than is good for me, but at least it’s keeping the cold out. That’s my excuse, anyway – even if it is summer! The men aren’t bad either . . . out on another date tonight with a twenty-six-year-old billionaire. He’s going to show me his palace, apparently; I’ll keep you posted! Love to you all, A xxx
    Caro smiled, and wondered if she should let Benedict read it. He was notoriously protective of his younger sister. She looked at her watch: time to pick up Milo. As she went for a wee in the downstairs loo, she realized her T-shirt had jam smeared across the front from Milo’s breakfast.
That would never do
, she thought, running upstairs to change.
I already look like a country bumpkin next to all the yummy mummies at the nursery gates
. They’d have a field day if she turned up looking like Waynetta Slob.
    As she got a clean shirt out of the wardrobe, something caught her eye. Caro peered out of the window. The blinds were open in the hospital room opposite, and she could see that Benedict had been right: it was some kind of consulting area. In one corner stood a hospital bed with a curtain rail round it. A man in a dark suit sat behind a desk in front of the window.
    A sturdy woman in a dark-blue tunic entered the room. She shut the door. Her mouth moved silently as she spoke to the man. Caro was about to turn away when, to her absolute astonishment, the nurse stood in front of the desk and began to unbutton her tunic.
    Caro stood frozen to the spot as the woman peeled off her clothes to reveal huge, pendulous boobs squashed into a black PVC bra, and matching knickers. She lifted one meaty finger and beckoned to the man. Caro could clearly make out bottle-top